- 



■ ' . . ■ 






THE TOCSIN 

A DRAMA OF 
THE RENAISSANCE 

BY 

ESTHER BROWN 
TIFFANY 




Book.. 13Jk 



GopyrightlS! 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2010 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/tocsindramaofrenOOtiff 



THE TOCSIN 




•'" ' ; - 









m 







THE TOCSIN 

A DRAMA OF THE RENAISSANCE 
By ESTHER BROWN TIFFANY 



Interpose at the difficult minute, 
snatch Saul the mistake, 

Saul the failure, the ruin he seems 
now, — and bid him awake 

From the dream, the probation, the 
prelude, to find himself set 

Clear and safe in new light and new 

LIFE, „ , „„ 

Browning s "Saul. 




PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS • SAN FRANCISCO 



Copyright, 1909 
by Paul Elder and Company 



-TL 



; 'D 177J5 



TO THE MEMORY OF 

MY FATHER 

FRANCIS TIFFANY 



ARGUMENT 

Florence, under Francesco de' Medici and his Grand 
Duchess, the " infamous " Bianca Cappello, is smitten by- 
famine and plague. Among those who flee the death- 
stricken city is the Abbot of San RafTaello. The Abbot is 
a man of dual nature — brilliant, cynical, pleasure-loving, 
generous, impressionable ; dowered with wit, charm, genius, 
and, true child of the Renaissance, a passionate worshipper 
of the beautiful. Conscious though he is of the cowardice 
of deserting his post at such a time, he yet summons his 
cowering monks about him for flight to the pure air of the 
Apennines. They go to the seat of his cousin, Bianca delle 
Torre, the new favorite of Francesco de' Medici. 

In the Abbot's train is Marianna, a young peasant girl 
disguised, for her better protection, as a boy. She has but 
lately come to Florence, having left her mountain hamlet 
in the vain hope of tracing her absent lover, Lorenzo, who 
is a ward of the Abbot. 

To the desolate and deserted city comes an angel of 
mercy in the person of Sister Maddalena, a "Poor Claire," 
as the nuns of the third or uncloistered order of St. Francis 
were called. They were vowed to a life of poverty and 
charity. Herself a Florentine of noble birth, she has for 
years been a wanderer on the face of the earth, and only 
returns to her beloved city at its cry of need. Her devout 
life is the result of a deep religious experience of her youth. 
Years before, in the Duomo, she had been overwhelmed by 

V 



ARGUMENT 

the impassioned eloquence of a young priest. Fired by 
his burning words, she had renounced the world and its 
pleasures to lead so inspired a life of prayer and charity 
that she is now regarded throughout Tuscany as a saint. 
The young priest, at that time in deacon's orders, was no 
other than the Abbot of San Raffaello. Of his dual nature, 
and of his sinking deeper and deeper into the luxury and 
license of the time, she knows nothing. Shrining his image 
in her heart, she prays that the hour may come when she 
may meet him once more face to face and, falling at his 
knees, bathe his blessed feet with her tears of thanksgiving. 

In Pistoia, not far from Castle delle Torre, Pope Sixtus 
V., stern old Peretti, is holding counsel with Francesco de' 
Medici, and here the Abbot's ward, Lorenzo, asking audi- 
ence of His Holiness, has the misfortune to drop a loaded 
pistol at the pontiff's feet. A new edict has just been pro- 
mulgated against bearing arms in the papal presence, and 
Lorenzo thus falls under sentence of death. From this 
penalty Marianna, who has come to Castle delle Torre with 
the Abbot and his flock, saves her lover by a bold night 
ride for his pardon. In the meantime, however, Lorenzo 
has fallen into the toils of the beautiful Bianca delle Torre, 
and for a while Marianna is left desolate. 

To Pistoia, also, comes Sister Maddalena to interview 
the Pope concerning the pestilence. On her way she stops 
at Castle delle Torre. The iniquities of the two Biancas, 
Bianca Cappello, the Grand Duchess, and Bianca delle 
Torre, the new favorite, oppress her soul. She believes that 
Florence suffers for the sins of its rulers ; that the Almighty 
is moved to wipe the plague-spot from the earth. She comes 
to plead with Bianca, but here at length in Castle delle 
Torre are the prayers of a lifetime answered. In the moon- 

vi 



ARGUMENT 

lit courtyard, jesting over his wine, Sister Maddalena meets 
the Abbot and throws herself on her knees before the man 
whose image she has so long held sacred. Then, like a 
stroke of lightning, comes the revelation to each. Aghast, 
she learns what a mistaken ideal she has been cherishing 
of this man of sin whom she has felt to be the instrument 
of her salvation. Mystery of mysteries ! her sainthood the 
outcome of his wasted life ! He on his part, overcome with 
self-loathing and moved by the stirrings of his old faith, 
calls about him the trembling monks, exhorts and inspires 
them; then, holding aloft the cross, he places himself at 
their head, and leads them back to Florence, the city of the 
dying and the dead. 



Vll 



THE TOCSIN 

A DRAMA IN FOUR ACTS 

CHARACTERS OF THE 
DRAMA 

ABBOT 
Of the Benedictine Monastery of San Raffaello at Florence 

LORENZO TORNABUONI 

The Abbot's Ward 

SIR WALTER HOWARD & COUNT SALVIATI 
Young Noblemen and Suitors to Bianca 

BROTHER SEBASTIANO & BROTHER FILIPO 
Of the Order of St. Benedict 

BARDI 
A Beggar, former Secretary to the Medici 

CAPTAIN 
Of the Papal Guard 

BIANCA DELLE TORRE 
A Young Widowed Countess, Cousin to the Abbot 

SISTER MADDALENA 
Of the Third or Uncloistered Order of St. Francis 

MARIANNA {alias GABRIELLO) 
A Peasant Girl 

NITA 
Waiting Woman to Bianca 

MONKS, SERVANTS, CHOIR BOYS, ETC. 

The scene is laid in Ij86, first in Florence, 

afterward in Castle delle Torre outside the City of Pistoia, at the 

foot of the Apennines. 



IX 




Act I 

A stately garden in Florence, belonging to Count Salviati. 
Marble fountains and statues of nymphs gleam from among 
the ilexes and oleanders. At one side is the brick wall, time- 
stained and mellow with age, of the abbey of San Raffaello. 
'The wall is pierced with a rich doorway, crowned by a figure 
of the archangel Raphael. At the rear of the garden another 
gate and wall shut off the street. In the foreground is a 
table for three, sumptuously set. 'Two servants in livery are 
bringing in flagons of wine and dishes of fruit. 



First Servant. At six were they to come ? 

Second Servant. At six, by the Abbot's watch. 

First Servant. And at six tomorrow, by the Abbot's 
watch, we may all be dead of the plague. 

Second Servant. Drink, then, while we may. ( He drinks 
from one of the flagons.) 

First Servant {drinking and smacking his lips). Ah, that 
would put life into the dead. 

Second Servant. Yes, when his Reverence is bid to sup- 
per, my master brings out his best. 

First Servant. But where are the flowers? 



THE TOCSIN 

Second Servant. His Reverence's page was to bring them. 

First Servant. That close-mouthed Gabriello? I cannot 
squeeze a word out of him about his own affairs, or the 
Abbot's, either. 

Second Servant. No, he holds himself as much aloof as 
the Grand Duchess herself. 

First Servant. And was picked up in the gutter, was he 
not? 

Second Servant. Some such story. For all his round eyes, 
he knows on which side his bread is buttered. No won- 
der he fawns on his Reverence like a stray dog. 

First Servant. There's not a stray dog in Florence that 
does not fawn on his Reverence. 

( The convent gate opens and discloses Marianna^ dressed 
as a page , her arms full of flowers.) 

Second Servant. Ah, there is Gabriello now. 

First Servant. Make haste. Must we wait all night? 

Marianna [hurrying forward). Am I late? Every rose I 
saw was so much more beautiful than the last, that I had 
to stop and pick it. These for the head, Luigi, and these 
to crown the fruit. (She decorates the table.) 

First Servant. There are no other such roses in Florence. 

Marianna. No, his Reverence has only to touch a plant and 
it bursts into flower. How I love to see him pacing up and 
down his rose-alleys, in the sun, his dog rubbing its nose 
against his white robe, and to hear him talk to his roses. 

Second Servant. Talk to his roses? 

Marianna (shrinking back at LuigVs laugh). Oh, in jest, 
as he does to dogs, or the boys of the Sanctuary, — or to 
me ! ( 'The servants move off, laughing. Marianna picks up 
a white rose and looks at it dreamily.) Why would he not 
pull it himself, the Reverend Father? I found him bend- 



THE TOCSIN 

ing over it, but his hands were behind his back. " Here, 

Gabriello," he said, " I have sworn to this white virgin, 

my hands should not touch her. You alone must break 

her from her stalk." 
First Servant [looking disapprovingly at the table). After 

all, you have brought too few. 
Ma ri anna. I will run back for more. 
Second Servant. Here come his Excellency the Count 

and Sir Walter Howard. 

(They stand back. Enter Count Salviati and Sir Walter 

Howard from the side opposite the convent?) 
Count Salviati (to Marianna). Where is the Reverend 

Father ? 
Marianna. His Reverence bade me give you a thousand 

pardons, but he must be late. Important letters. He 

begs you will not wait for him. ( She bows and goes out 

through the convent gate.) 
Count Salviati (to Sir Walter). Well, then, let us try 

these nectarines till he joins us. (They seat themselves at 

the table.) 
Sir Walter. Yes, we English are a soberer race than you 

Tuscans. 
Count Salviati. And habitually invite the skeleton to the 

feast. 
Sir Walter. We find it less easy to turn our eyes from 

him, when he stands grinning in at our gates, as now. 
Count Salviati. Ah, the famine and the plague. You 

wonder how we who yet live can make merry. 
Sir Walter. Florence is dying for bread. 
Count Salviati (to one of the servants). Music, Luigi. 

(Luigi goes to summer-house, where the musicians are, and 

brings them forward.) 



THE TOCSIN 

Sir Walter {shuddering). Pisa is a charnal-house ; hun- 
dreds lie unburied in the streets. Husbands desert their 
wives, mothers their children. 

Count Salviati [shrugging his shoulders). And we feast. 
[He turns impatiently to the musicians.) Something gay. 
( T'he players break into a wild dance-measure. Count Sal- 
viati waves his hand.) Softly. (I'hey move toward the 
rear y playing with fire but in low tones.) 

Sir Walter. A dirge were fitter. 

Count Salviati. When you marry the beautiful Bianca 
delle Torre and become one of us, you will understand 
us better. 

Sir Walter {gloomily). More chance there for you than 
for me. 

Count Salviati (gaily). Neck and neck at present. (A 
dancer appears from among the musicians and begins a wild, 
graceful dance. Count Salviati applauds a moment with a 
"brava!" then turns again to Sir Walter, who pays no 
heed to the dancer.) Would it check your pace, you with 
your strange island conventionalities, should I whisper 
that the Grand Duke himself is in the running? 

Sir Walter (starting to his feet). Francesco de' Medici? 

Count Salviati (luxuriously enjoying his fruit). Francesco 
de' Medici. 

Sir Walter. But his Duchess still lives. 

Count Salviati (shrugging his shoulders). Yes, she still 
lives, that other, that terrible Bianca Cappello. But you 
look pale. (He fills his glass.) To the ripe lips of your 
intended, Bianca delle Torre. 

(As they are drinking a knocking at the gate is heard 
above the dance music. One of the servants opens the gate 
and Sister Maddalena, a child in her arms, is seen at the 



THE TOCSIN 

entrance. She stands severe and solemn in her gray Fran- 
ciscan dress. About her clings a group of half-clad, famine- 
stricken women and children. An old man with traces of 
better days about him follows in their train. Count Salviati 
and Sir Walter turn and gaze amazed.) 

Sister Maddalena {to Luigi). Whose feast is this? 

Servant. The noble Count Salviati's. {He motions the 
group away, but Sister Maddalena, with a commanding 
gesture, stops him and enters, her people following timidly.) 

Sister Maddalena. Count Salviati, I bring your guests. 
{She holds up a silencing hand to the musicians and the 
dancing-girl, who pause confused and irresolute?) 

Count Salviati {turning angrily). What does this mean! 
Luigi ! 

Servant {deprecatingly). I could not help — pardon me, 
Sir Count! 

Sister Maddalena {in the same tone of calm command). 
Rise, Count Salviati, and you, sir {to Sir Walter), rise, 
and welcome your guests. 

{Count Salviati, half in anger, half as though constrained 
by some superior will, rises and with him Sir Walter?) 

Count Salviati {to Sister Maddalena). Who in the devil's 
name are you that dare 

Sister Maddalena {to the trembling women). Eat. Drink. 
( She places the child in the arms of one of them and pours 
out wine. 'They cluster about the table eating ravenously. 
Count Salviati and Sir Walter stand confounded?) 

Sir Walter {to Count Salviati). What is she? 

Count Salviati. Some half-crazed fanatic, her head turned 
by the famine. 

Sister Maddalena {to servants). Serve your master's 
guests. ( The servants look toward the Count for orders.) 



THE TOCSIN 

Count Salviati {with an assumption of his former light 
manner). By all means, Luigi. Make haste. Serve the 
noble ladies. And if they are weary, lead them to the 
arbor yonder and bring silken coverlets and cushions for 
their delicate heads. For when ladies {he bows profoundly, 
his hand on his heart), so fair, so radiant, condescend to 

grace my humble board {Sister Maddalena turns 

with head eretl and looks silently full at Count Salviati. He 
stops in full breath and grasps Sir Walter's arm.) The 
fiend take the woman. She has the evil eye. Speak to 
her, Sir Walter ; send her packing. You English are not 
afraid of the evil eye. There are my servants waiting on 
her, like whipped hounds. 

Sir Walter. Let us call his Reverence. 

Count Salviati ( with an air of relief). Well said. ( They 
pass out through the abbey gate. Sister Maddalena ap- 
proaches the old man who sits in a brooding attitude, his 
cup untasted, his head in his hand. His air is haggard and 
wild.) 

Sister Maddalena. You eat nothing. 

Bardi {looking up dazed). Eh? 

Sister Maddalena. Eat. Drink. 

Bardi {feverishly). Yes, yes. To give me strength. To 
give me strength. 

{Sister Maddalena takes a silver salver from the table, 
Jills it with water from the fountain and places it at old 
Bardi* s feet. Then she brings one of the fine napkins, kneels 
down before him and begins to unfasten his sandals. He 
appears only half conscious of her aclion, forgetting his food 
and falling into his former brooding attitude. Sister Madda- 
lena bathes and wipes his feet.) 

Sister Maddalena. Poor wounded foot. 



THE TOCSIN 

Bardi. Wounded? Ah, that was but a sharp stone, but 
here, in my side, the stiletto thrust 

Sister Maddalena. Let me see the wound. 

Bardi (grasping his robe about him and speaking with a fierce 
intensity). No, no, let it rankle, let it fester, that not for 
one moment I forget. 

Sister Maddalena. Beware lest you forget to forgive. 

Bardi (his voice rising shrilly). Forgive? I forgive, who 
spent my life for the Grand Duchess — sold my honor? 
I was her scribe, and now that she sickens, the Grand 
Duke would turn for his pleasures to a fresher face. He 
hired me ; and I am trapped by the Duchess with a love- 
token to the new favorite, and thrust through with cold 
steel 

Sister Maddalena. O Lord, how long! 

Bardi (seizing her hand as his tone changes to one of exultant 
malice). Listen, Sister. The new favorite, her name too 
is Bianca — Bianca delle Torre. Near Pistoia she lives. 
Even my old eyes exulted at the whiteness of her throat. 

Sister Maddalena (pressing her hand to her heart). O 
new web of guilt ! O Florence ! 

Bardi (exultantly). Bianca delle Torre; remember, Sister, 
Bianca delle Torre. And when Bianca Cappello lies stark 
and cold and the other Bianca reigns in her stead, re- 
member it was old Bardi who carried the first love-token. 

Sister Maddalena (her face becoming as one who thinks out 
a problem). To plead with her. Near Pistoia. And I go 
there today to see His Holiness. 

Bardi (catching eagerly at the word). Pistoia. Yes, yes. 
She lives there in Castle delle Torre. Tell her of old 
Bardi. Tell her old Bardi is fallen on evil days — is ill — 
is dying — tell her 



THE TOCSIN 

Sister Maddalena. And you would take bread from 

such as she ? O unreverend white hairs ! O corrupted 

heart ! 

(Marianna, who has entered with more flowers and stolen 

nearer, utters an exclamation and drops her roses. Sister 

Maddalena hurries toward her.) 
Sister Maddalena. Marianna! 
Marianna (covering her face with her hands). O Sister 

Maddalena ! 
Sister Maddalena (to the poor women). Go, now, and the 

Holy Virgin keep you. ('They crowd about her, kissing 

her hands and the hem of her robe. She turns to Bardi.) 
Sister Maddalena. Your days are few. Even now the 

sword hangs over Florence. "Vengeance is mine, I will 

repay," saith the Lord. Go. Forget. Forgive. Repent. 
( One of the servants opens the gate. The throng flocks out. 

Sister Maddalena turns to Marianna, with outstretched 

arms, the remoteness hovering about her all gone, and a 

thrilling tenderness in her voice?) 
Sister Maddalena (to Marianna). In the dress of a boy! 

O my lost lamb ! 
Marianna. No, Sister, not lost. O Sister, it was so long, 

so long since I had heard from him. 
Sister Maddalena. From Lorenzo? 
Marianna. Who else is there ! O Sister, my heart was 

breaking and I came to Florence to find him ! 
Sister Maddalena. Left your peaceful mountain hamlet 

for this great, evil place ! Yes, I traced you nearly to the 

city gates. 
Marianna. You came to find me ? 
Sister Maddalena. As the shepherd the strayed lamb. (She 

throws a fold of her mantle about Marianna and lifting her 

8 



THE TOCSIN 

face gazes searchingly into it. Her own clears as she does 

so.) Praise be to the Saints ! 
Marianna. For what, Sister? Why do you search my 

eyes? 
Sister Maddalena. Unspotted from the world ! (She kisses 

Marianna on the forehead.) And now you will come with 

me. 
Marianna. O Sister, not yet ! 
Sister Maddalena. Yes, now. I must make haste to Pis- 

toia this very night. His Holiness is there. I must see 

him and beg help for Florence. 
Marianna. For the famine ? 
Sister Maddalena. For the plague which will smite her 

before these flowers have withered on their stalks. 
Marianna (tearing herself away). Then I will stay, for if 

Lorenzo should come to Florence and no one to nurse 

him ! O Holy Virgin ! 
Sister Maddalena. This is no place for you. 
Marianna. O Sister, wait, wait ! Give me one little half- 
hour more. A reverend father I know has letters from 

Lorenzo. Let me hear first if he is alive or dead. 
Sister Maddalena. There is a dying woman in the next 

street, holding on to life till I come to her. I cannot 

wait. 
Marianna. Go, go and leave me here a little half-hour, 

and when you come back I will follow you. O Sister, 

if you knew what it was to love, you would have mercy 

on me! 
Sister Maddalena (half to herself). This little earthly 

love, this possession of a few moments ! Oh, if you could 

hear the voice I once heard, long years ago, at the 

blessed Eastertide, here in the cathedral ! 



THE TOCSIN 

Marianna. What voice, Sister? 

Sister Maddalena {her eyes growing rapt). Of an angel, 
not a man. One to whom I owe every hope of my sal- 
vation. 

Marianna. You loved him? 

Sister Maddalena. His soul spoke to mine and mine leapt 
to life. {She flings out her arms with sudden burning fervor.) 

Lord, if it be not a sinful desire of self, grant, grant 
that I may yet in the flesh once more behold him, fall 
at his holy feet, and bathe them with tears of thanks- 
giving ! {She stands rapt a moment ; then the fire dies from 
her eyes, and she turns with her former calm to Marianna.) 

1 will return for you soon. 
Marianna. I will be at the gate, Sister. 

{Sister Maddalena goes out. Marianna closes the gate. 

T'he servants attempt to arrange the disordered table.) 
First Servant. But why were you fool enough to let her 

in? 
Second Servant. It was the Count's fault. He should 

have driven her out. 
First Servant. There they come now and his Reverence 

with them. 

{Enter from the convent Count Salviati, Sir Walter, and 

the Abbot in the white robe of his order.) 
Abbot {laughing). Devoured your feast before your very 

eyes, you say ? But where is the rabble ? 
Count Salviati. Gone! 
Abbot. And half the plate, too, I dare swear, hid in the 

chaste bosom of the holy sister of St. Francis. 
Sir Walter. But if you could have seen her ! 
Abbot. Pah ! I know the unwashed tribe. ( He takes a rose 

from the table and smells it, delicately.) 

IO 



THE TOCSIN 

Count Salviati. If you could have heard her ! 

Abbot. A mere trick of the trade. I held it myself once, 
for an hour, and preached an Easter sermon yonder in 
the cathedral, that brought all Florence to its knees. 

Count Salviati. Who has not heard of your Reverence's 
great sermon ? 

Abbot. And the women, — you should have heard the sobs 
of the women ! 

Count Salviati. I prefer their smiles. 

Abbot. And then the Archbishop clapt this fat abbey into 
my mouth and I am [shrugging his shoulders) — your very 
good companion. But, per B ace o ! our fair guests have 
left us but scant pickings. 

Count Salviati [hurling his flagons on the ground). Pestif- 
erous wretches ! 

Abbot. Here, boy, run to Brother Gregorius and bid him 
give you my gold cups, Cellini's work. He will know. 

Marianna. Yes, Reverend Father. [She goes out through 
the abbey gate. The Abbot looks after her. It is manifest 
that the evident simplicity and purity of the supposed boy are y 
though perhaps unconsciously to the Abbot , touching the best 
side of his nature. With her his worldliness, his cynicism 
half drop from him.) 

Abbot [looking after her). Country-bred, sirs, and smacking 
still of the fields. A pretty something in his eyes, we 
used to call innocence. 

Count Salviati. Still, I think I should keep an eye to 
the key of my strong-box. [To the servants.) Fresh wine 
and fruit. 

( The servants go out. The others seat themselves.) 

Abbot ( to Sir Walter, handing him a paper). This came in 
Lorenzo's packet. 

I I 



THE TOCSIN 

Sir Walter. By your leave. ( He goes apart and reads the 

paper.) 
Abbot ( to Count Salviati ). That troublesome ward of mine, 

Lorenzo Tornabuoni, whom I sent to England to cure 

of a love folly 

Count Salviati. Yes, I have heard. 

Abbot. Well, cured or not cured, he is on his way home. 

Count Salviati. Have you tried the old cure, " Like cures 

like?" 
Abbot. Not in his case. 

(Enter Marianna with a salver, bearing three superb 

golden goblets.) 
Count Salviati. I know a lady who would cure your 

ward of his love-sickness. 
Abbot. Who is she? 
Count Salviati. You should know. Is she not near kin 

to you ? Bianca delle Torre. 
Abbot. My very own fair cousin. 
Count Salviati. Then Lorenzo knows her already ? 
Abbot. No, they have never met. 
Count Salviati. Let her physic his wound. 
Abbot. Poor boy. (His brow clouds.) 
Count Salviati. Has he had many such troublesome 

loves, this Lorenzo of yours? 

(Marianna makes a half-smothered exclamation, and drops 

one of the goblets.) 
Abbot ( turning suddenly ). Have a care, boy. ( He hands one 

of the cups to the Count.) But, indeed, this is cunning 

goldsmith's work. Cellini's. Were ever Cupid and Psyche 

modeled more graciously? 
Count Salviati. Admirable. 

(Sir Walter comes to the Count with a paper. The 

12 



THE TOCSIN 

Count exclaims and turns to the Abbot who is lazily play- 
ing with some strawberries.) By your leave. [Reads the 
paper.) 

Abbot {with a gracious motion of his hand). So that it does 
not spoil your palate for this fruit. Here, Gabriello, let 
me see which are ripest, these berries, or your lips. 
( Gabriello kneels before the Abbot, who takes a berry and 
puts it between her lips.) The king of the dish. Am I 
not a generous master, Gabriello? When you go from 
me to another master, and they say evil things of me, 
tell them, "Ah, but he always gave me the largest ber- 
ries in the dish." 

Marianna. No one should ever say evil things of you in 
my hearing. 

Abbot {turning up her face, half curiously, half carelessly). 
Why, how the child flushes ! What a curious light you 
have in your eyes, Gabriello; for all the world like — 
where have I seen it before ? ( His gaze leaves her face. 
He draws a long breath.) On the morning hills, the light, 
the radiance 

Marianna. What light, Reverend Father? 

Abbot {musing). 'Tis years since I have thought myself 
back there. 

Marianna. Where, Reverend Father? 

Abbot. Have you ever been in the hills, Gabriello, the 
real mountains? Ah, yes, you came from there. 

Marianna. I have always lived there. 

Abbot. But I lived in Venice. To be content with this 
world, Gabriello, live on the plains. No mystifying hints 
of half-seen, cloud-capped phantasmagoria, that dazzle 
the eye from a mountain peak. There, never try to un- 
derstand. Taste this berry. 

1 3 



THE TOCSIN 

Marianna. Perhaps I do not understand, but oh, I love 
to hear you. 

Abbot {forgetting Gabriello). Ah, the wild life there in 
Venice! How the blood ran riot in our veins! Was I 
ever once alone in my life, till I left my father's palace ? 
What took me to the hills? Up, up I climbed, half the 
night, then turned and saw — my God, what did I not 
see! {He rises, oblivious of everything about him.). Early 
morning, the sun not yet risen, a hush, a purity — how 
the world seemed to fall away ! The light in the sky ! 
It seemed to stab me with ineffable joy and agony ! 
Prayers surged to my lips 

Count Salviati {looking upfront his papers). What are we 
losing ? A tale from the Decameron ? 

Abbot {with a sudden bitter laugh). A fairy tale to amuse 
Gabriello. {He throws himself down on his seat, his old 
careless manner upon him.) 

Marianna {with wide eyes). And then, and then? 

Abbot. Never go to the hills, boy; they turn the heads 
of honest folk. Or, yes, go to them, get mad, renounce 
the world, turn monk, take holy orders, preach a sermon 
of blood and tears, draw a rich abbey and — live happy 
ever after. 

Marianna {shaking her head sadly). You are telling it dif- 
ferently now. 

Abbot {cynically). Yes, now it is a tale from Boccaccio. {He 
pushes her lightly away. Sir Walter comes forward hastily?) 

Sir Walter. Pardon, I must leave at once for Pistoia. I 
am to meet Lorenzo tonight at Castle delle Torre. 

Abbot. What, is my pretty cousin Bianca dabbling in the 
English plot ? ( I'o Count Salviati.) Providence puts Lor- 
enzo in her hands. 

14 



THE TOCSIN 

Sir Walter {reading from his letter). "The Pope is in 

Pistoia. Lorenzo has audience of His Holiness." 
Count Salviati {tapping Sir Walter on the breast). Let me 

warn you, if you have audience of His Holiness, leave 

behind you the staunch little friend I see there. 
Sir Walter {drawing out a pistol). This? 
Count Salviati. Very pretty, but not to be carried in 

Papal presence. 
Abbot. Why not? 

Count Salviati. A new edict, and when Sixtus speaks 

Abbot. This comes of the two attempts on his life. 
Count Salviati. Yes, and now whoever approaches him 

armed, dies. 
Abbot {starting up with sudden emotion). Does Lorenzo 

know this ? 

{Marianna clasps her hands. Enter Brother Sebastiano 

from the convent, breathless and trembling?) 
Brother Sebastiano. Reverend Father! 
Abbot. Well. 

Brother Sebastiano. Reverend Father! 
Abbot. Out with it ! 

Brother Sebastiano. It has reached the next village. 
Abbot. What, your face ? It is long enough. 
Brother Sebastiano. The pestilence! 

{Count Salviati and Sir Walter start and rise. 'The 

Abbot alone keeps his coolness.) 
Count Salviati. Reached San Marino ! 
Sir Walter. Come with me to Pistoia. 
Brother Sebastiano. The Holy Virgin herself has been 

seen in the streets of Florence, clad all in gray, like a 

sister of St. Francis. 
Sir Walter. Our fanatic. 

J 5 



THE TOCSIN 

Abbot. Bravo, Count, it was the Queen of Heaven you 

entertained unawares. 
Brother Sebastiano. And prophesies death and destruc- 
tion to Florence for her sins. 
Abbot. I pray you, gentlemen, repent and save the city. 
Brother Sebastiano {to the Abbot). O Reverend Father, 

if I thought my sins, my heinous sins 

Abbot. What! you have been tripping? 

Brother Sebastiano {wringing his hands). A thousand 

times have I sworn to abstain ! 
Abbot {gaily to Count Sahiati and Sir Walter). Listen, 

gentlemen, a confession! For this sinner is Florence 

smitten ! 
Count Salviati. Then we go free. 
Brother Sebastiano. But the saints having as it were 

thrust the key into my hands {he draws out a large key) — 

I found it on the chapel floor 

Abbot. Ah, whom the very saints tempt ! 

Brother Sebastiano. And my voice never sounds so 

clear — your Reverence himself praised it one day at 

matins — as when my stomach is warm. 
Abbot. I — at matins ? A miracle ! 

Brother Sebastiano. And so, year after year, O Rever- 
end Father 

Abbot. So you were the leak ! and it is my Burgundy that 

has been ripening your nose these ten years ? 
Brother Sebastiano. Saints forgive me ! But Brother 

Gregorius 

Abbot. Keep to your own sins. 

Brother Sebastiano. If the pestilence spare me to do 

penance ! 
Abbot. The Burgundy I forgive you, but not your solitary 

16 



THE TOCSIN 

guzzlings. What the devil do you think the blessed 
saints thrust this temptation under your nose for, but to 
see if you were good fellow enough to invite the whole 
convent into my cellar and warm their fasting hearts ? 

Brother Sebastiano [deeply perplexed). Your Reverence 
knows more of the ways of the blessed saints than I ! 
( Enter Brother Filipo, wringing his hands.) 

Brother Filipo. Lost! All lost! The plague is on us! 
In San Marino every soul is stricken with death [telling 
his beads). O Holy Virgin, have mercy, have mercy! 
Remember not my sins, O Lord ! 

Abbot. Fool ! Coward ! 

[A confused murmur of voices is heard. The convent gate 
is burst open and a stream of brothers all in the white robes 
of the Order of St. BeneditJ pour into the garden.) 

Brothers [incoherently). The pestilence ! Death! Florence 
doomed ! The gray sister ! 

Abbot [lifting his arm with a strong, commanding gesture). 
Silence ! [He glances over the trembling throng and speaks 
half in scorn, as though answering his own bitter thoughts?) 
And yet you are what I have made you, and now it is 
too late ! [A mocking light comes into his face?) No, she is 
not a pleasant bed-fellow, my lady Pestilence, and why 
should I ask you to lie with her when I will not? Does 
not her mere breath on your cheek chill your heart's 
blood ! Those trembling hands to tend the dying ! Those 
pallid lips to whisper courage ! What have I ever given 
you that you could give again ! Come, then, we who 
are afraid to die, out of the pest-house, out of the death- 
trap ! Who goes ? Who stays ? 

Brothers [crowding about him). Take me — and me — I 
go — I go! 

1 7 



THE TOCSIN 

Abbot {recklessly and lifting a glass). To Castle delle Torre, 
then, to the pure breath of the Apennines and — a health 
to my lady Pestilence [the monks shudder and cross them- 
selves), and may she keep us long from our duties! 



18 




Act II 

A lofty hall in Castle delle 'Torre. At one side is a wide 
marble fireplace and before it a table set with glasses. Enter 
Nita, followed by a pouting page. He carries an elaborately 
wrought jewel-box and a wreath of roses. 



Page. To make a messenger of the Grand Duke, Francesco 

de' Medici, cool his heels all day in the ante-room ! 
Nita {glancing cautiously about and fingering the lid of the 

jewel-box). Just one little peep. 
Page {pushing her hand away). No. 
Nita. How does it open ? Ah, you do not know. I see 

your master does not trust you, and, indeed, why should 

he? 
Page. Not trust me ? See, you have only to press the 

cherub's head and {As he does so the lid flies open.) 

Nita {clasping her hands). Angeli santil A coronet of rubies, 

blood red ! Oh, to wear such a coronet ! 
Page ( disdainfully lifting the wreath and placing it on her 

head). These are for such as you. 
Nita {uttering a cry and putting up her hands). The thorns, 

the thorns! Blessed saints! it has made my forehead 

1 9 



THE TOCSIN 

bleed! {She snatches it off, the petals falling as she handles 
it.) One more little peep at the jewels, to pay me for 
those cruel thorns. 

( Their heads are together over the box, when a curtain is 
pulled noiselessly back and Sister Maddalena, worn and ex- 
hausted, enters. She stands watching the pair silently and 
with drawn brows.) 

Page. Well, then, only you must not touch. 

Nita. The cherub head, the laughing one ! He may well 
laugh. Oh, let me press it ! {Sister Maddalena draws a 
long breath as the jewel-box flies open.) Who was it sighed ? 
{Turning and perceiving the Sister.) Angeli santil {She 
starts away from the page.) 

Sister Maddalena {to the page). You wear the livery of 
the Medici. 

Nita {falling on her knees). The Holy Sister Maddalena! 
On your knees, Sandro ! 

Page {standing erecl and looking arrogantly at the Sister). I 
have a message for the Countess from my master. 

Nita {pulling his cloak). Hst, the Holy Sister! Hst, — 
Ora pro nobis! Your blessing, Holy Sister! 

Sister Maddalena. I, too, have a message for the Count- 
ess from my Master. {She catches her breath and puts her 
hand to her throat.) The saints grant me strength to de- 
liver it! {She sways and supports herself against the table.) 

Nita. O Sister, your bleeding feet ! 

Sister Maddalena {indifferently). Do they bleed? I have 
come far. 

Nita. Let me bind them up for you. O Sister, you 
tremble ! ( She rises and supports Sister Maddalena?) Let 
me get you some wine. 

Sister Maddalena. A cup of water. My throat is 

20 



THE TOCSIN 

parched. The fountain I passed in the court; let me 
rest a moment. O Lord, thy vessels of clay 

Nita. Lean on me, Sister. 

{Sister Maddalena goes out, supported by Nita. The page 
shrugs his shoulders and busies himself with his wreath?) 

Page. Half fallen to pieces. Ah, some one is coming. The 
Countess. {He smoothes his ruffles. Enter a servant , throw- 
ing open the doors.) 

Servant. His Highness's messenger awaits the Contessas 
pleasure. 

{Enter Bianca delle Torre.) 

Bianca {waving her hand indifferently toward the casket). 
On the table, there ! You may go. 

Page {presenting a letter). His Highness hoped I might 
have the honor of a return message. 

Bianca. Come for it in three days. 

Page. At the Countess's service. ( He bows and goes out.) 

Bianca {going to the casket and opening it). Ah ! {She takes 
out a coronet.) This — and the title of Marchioness — if 
I choose {she takes out other jewels), and if the Grand 
Duchess — if Bianca Cappello should die — he raised her 
to a throne, why not me ? The "infamous Bianca," men 
called her. Now this strange wasting illness she has. 
Bianca — Bianca de' Medici. {She puts the jewels back 
and closes the casket, then touches a bell on the table. No one 
comes. She touches it again impatiently, then again angrily.) 
What does this mean! Where are my people! {She 
strikes the bell again more angrily. Enter Nita breathless.) 

Nita. Pardon, my lady! 

Bianca. How often am I to ring? 

Nita. A thousand pardons, gracious lady ! I heard and I 
could not stir — the Holy Sister! 

21 



THE TOCSIN 

Bianca. What holy sister ? 

Nita. In the courtyard, gracious lady, the Holy Sister 
Maddalena and the whole household on its knees and 
the blessed saint warning us of death and purgatory 

Bianca. What nonsense is this? 

Nita {crossing herself). The gracious lady has only to 
open the casement and look. ( Volubly.) Even old Josefe 
who buried his three sons dry-eyed is all tears. And 
when she speaks every one must listen whether one 
would or no. And see, Contessa, I myself tore off my 
bracelet, the one your Excellency gave me, and cast it at 
her feet (holding up her wrist remorsefully). Bare as my 
poor arm looks without it, may the saints reward me! 

Bianca. Foolish child! (Giving her a ring from her finger?) 
Here — lest the saints forget. 

Nita (kissing Bianca s hand). O Contessa, a thousand 
thanks ! 

Bianca. What is the Sister doing here? 

Nita. On her way to Pistoia, blessed saint, to see His 
Holiness; she stopped here for a cup of water and to 
bind up her feet — St. Agnes, how they bled! She will 
be gone now — and my bracelet with her. 

Bianca. I should like to see old Josefe in tears. 

Nita. And miracles she can work, my lady, and tell the 
future 

Bianca (suddenly). Tell the future! 

Nita. And has visions, holy saint that she is! 

Bianca. Call her up — run after her if she is gone. Quick! 

Nita. Yes, my lady. (Exit.) 

Bianca. See into the future! They say these strange 
creatures, with their mortifications of the flesh, can do 
that. If I knew! If the stake were worth the playing 

22 



THE TOCSIN 

(She stands musing, her hand on the casket; then goes to the 
casement and opens it.) Yes, there they all are still, but 
rising from their knees and already repenting their re- 
pentance. 

(Enter Nit a throwing open the door.) 

Nita. Sister Maddalena. (Exit.) 

( The Sister comes forward with a calm dignity but with 
searching eyes on Bianco? s face.) 

Sister Maddalena. My time is short. 

Bianca. They say you have strange gifts. 

Sister Maddalena. That is as Heaven wills. 

Bianca. I would know — there is one* — a — a friend stricken 
with a wasting sickness 

Sister Maddalena. You speak of Bianca Cappello. 

Bianca (starting). I had not named her. 

Sister Maddalena. I will join my prayers with yours 
that she may recover. 

Bianca (hastily aside). Heaven forbid! (To the Sister.) I 
fear my prayers would avail little. 

Sister Maddalena. Nothing is denied the earnest and 
suppliant heart. 

Bianca. But Heaven may have a higher crown for her. 
( Takes a jewel from her breast.) For your poor. ( The Sis- 
ter steps back, sternly waving off Bianca s hand.) And twice 
this in gold. Tell me, must Florence again mourn its 
Grand Duchess? 

Sister Maddalena (in a sudden fervor of passion). O Flor- 
ence! O my city! Not yet purged from the pollution 
of that adulterous marriage, and now again to be smitten 
for its ruler's shame! Strike, strike, O avenging pesti- 
lence! Stay not thy hand till the abomination be scourged 
from off the earth. 

23 



THE TOCSIN 

Bianca. Woman! 

Sister Maddalena. Where is that voice long dumb — 
that clarion voice that called me from my sin ? O Lord, 
how long ! 

Bianca. Go ! 

Sister Maddalena {pointing to Bianca with a fierce fire in 
her eyes before which she sways back as if from a flame). 
You and such as you it is that call down God's wrath in 
the fiery darts of the pestilence ! You that walk in high 
places! You that wear purple and fine linen! 

{Bianca, her hand on her breast, and her eyes fixed on 
Sister Maddalena, flies to the doors and throws them back.) 

Bianca. Bernardo! Giorgio! 

Sister Maddalena. Too long has the Lord held His 
hand. 

{Enter servants.) 

Bianca {pointing to Sister Maddalena and with her proud 
manner again upon her). The woman! Drive her from 
the gates ! ( 'The servants recoil and look in perturbation at 
each other.) 

Sister Maddalena {to the servants). Have no fear. You 
obey a higher voice than hers. 

Bianca. Bernardo ! 

Sister Maddalena {to servants). Go. I shall follow. {They 
go out. She turns to Bianca with outstretched arms, the 
anger gone, and her voice tender and beseeching.) And yet 
I know how it is with you. Never dream I do not know. 
I too once slept soft and knew the life of courts and was 
beautiful. I too lived in the fleeting moment, and was 
blind and knew it not. Then a light smote me. Then a 
hand plucked me from the abyss as I would pluck you. 
It is not yet too late. Christ's bosom is so tender. 

24 



THE TOCSIN 

Though your sins are as scarlet, they shall be white as 
snow. Come ! (Bianca turns away. The Sister stands with 
outstretched arms.) You will not? You shut your ears to 
my voice? Oh, if I could but stay and plead with you! 
But my dying people call. {Sister Maddalena advances to 
the table, laying her hand on the casket, her voice thrilling 
with an almost unearthly solemnity.) Not chance it was 
brought me to you. Two messengers have come to you 
today, one from an earthly prince, one from the Lord 
High God of Hosts. To which word will you give ear? 
(She points to the wreath.) See, the chaplet of roses, 
twined by carnal love, already fades. (She lifts up the gar- 
land. The withered petals fall in a rosy shower, leaving a 
ring of leaves and thorns.) A chaplet of roses, did I call 
it? Behold, it is a crown of thorns! (Bianca shrinks back, 
clasping her hands on her breast. The two women stand 
gazing into each other s eyes, Bianca s spirit battling with 
the solemn inspiration of Sister Maddalena s. Suddenly a 
smile of ineffable sweetness and triumph flashes across the 
Sister s face.) O blessed crown of thorns ! Yet shall you 
wear it ! Yet shall you come ! My soul doth magnify 
the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Maker! 
(She turns silently and goes out.) 

Bianca (half starting after her). Sister — I (She checks 

herself and gazes about as if trying to shake off some power- 
ful impression.) What did she say ? Yet should I come ? 
I? I? — The crown of thorns! And scorned me in my 
own palace and I was dumb ! And knew of whom I 
questioned and of my sin ! Fool ! she had met de' Medici's 
messenger — or perhaps by this it is common talk. Fool 
that I am ! 

( Enter servant.) 

25 



THE TOCSIN 

Servant. A messenger from Florence, from his Reverence 

the Abbot of San Raffaello. 
Bianca. Bring him in. 

( Enter Marianna and Brother Sebastiano.) 
Bianca {to Marianna). Well, pretty boy! 
Marianna. The Reverend Father is at the gate. 
Bianca. Why at the gate? Run and fetch him in. 
Marianna. The Reverend Father bade me say the plague 

is not yet in Florence. We bring no contagion, but every 

hour it creeps nearer, and so 

Bianca. So he makes haste to our pure mountain air. A 

thousand welcomes to him ! Run child and tell him. 
Marianna. But his Reverence is not alone. 
Bianca. Whom has he with him? 
Marianna. Sir Walter Howard, Count Salviati and half 

the convent, gracious lady. 
Bianca. The more the merrier. {She turns up Marianna' 's 

face and strokes her cheek.) I prefer you to old shaven 

pate there. Now run. {Exeunt Marianna and Brother 

Sebastiano. Bianca turns to the servant.) Has the Grand 

Duke's messenger gone ? 
Servant. Yes, my lady. 

{She goes to the table and stands brooding, her hand on 

the casket. Enter a servant, throwing open the door.) 
Servant. His Reverence, the Abbot of San Raffaello ! 

{Enter the Abbot, followed by a train of monks.) 
Abbot {kissing Bianca s hand). My fair cousin. 
Bianca. Welcome. 

Abbot {laughing). And all my white lambs? 
Bianca. Every one. 
Abbot. Poor devils, they were no more eager than was 

their shepherd, to lie down with the lion. 

26 



THE TOCSIN 

Bianca. And the Count and Sir Walter? 

Abbot. Stopping to shake the dust from their fineries. 

Bianca. I warrant you made good time from Florence. 

Abbot. Yes, each for himself and the devil take the hind- 
most, though never dream his name was mentioned! 
Such a pattering of aves and paternosters you never 
heard. 

Bianca. I can fancy it! 

Abbot. By the mass, I had forgotten we could boast so 
much pious learning among us. 

Bianca. And you rode on Saladin? 

Abbot. Yes, I — or rather Brother Sebastiano there. Re- 
morse had made him faint. 

Bianca. And you rode 

Abbot. Shanks' mare. Not another to be had for love or 
money. 

Bianca. What! you all this way on foot? 

Abbot. Brother Sebastiano is but an indifferent horseman. 
I found it wise to have an occasional hand on the bridle. 

Bianca. All those miles! {She pours wine for him.) 

Abbot. And when the paternosters flagged, I kept up the 
brothers' hearts by tales from Boccaccio 

Bianca. Are those in your breviary ? 

Abbot. Which, to tell the truth, when Gabriello's eyes 
were on me I softened a bit. But such a searching of 
hearts as we had before leaving Florence ! 

Bianca. A conversion? 

Abbot. Hidden iniquities brought to light! Secret sins! 
The plague turned us inside out as a pickpocket a rifled 
purse. 

Bianca. Even you ? 

Abbot. On tiptoe for the confessional. But as a lover of 

2 7 



THE TOCSIN 

fair ladies, Bianca, let me warn you to avoid repentance. 

It spoils the complexion. Brother Sebastiano has not 

got his color yet. 
Bianca. I will take warning. 

Abbot {touching her cheek lightly). A suspicion of pallor? 
Bianca. It is nothing. 

Abbot. No teasing imp of remorse, I trust, concerning pil- 
fered Burgundy, or — a neighbor's husband? 
Bianca {turning hastily to a servant). I am forgetting these 

good brothers. Give them food and wine. {Exeunt the 

monks.) 
Abbot. Do you harbor a nunnery here? What was that 

gray shadow that flitted past us as we came in ? 
Bianca. A sister of St. Francis. 
Abbot. Ugh. The mere sweep of her robe chilled me to 

the bone. Her face was as white as her coif. Poor fool, 

I dare swear she has not tasted meat this twelvemonth. 
{Enter Marianna. She goes to the Abbot and hands him 

a large, gold watch?) 
Marianna. Your Reverence. 

Abbot. What ? I left the friend of my bosom behind me ? 
Marianna. Brother Angelo rode after us with it. 
Abbot. I would as lief lose my mitre. 
Bianca. And do these curious little toys really keep the 

time? 
Abbot. Why, Bianca, there is a saying in Florence, " True 

as the Abbot's watch." Gabriello, you shall hear some 
time how I came by it, and of my great sermon, and 

make round eyes as you do at my tales. Why, boy 

{A heavy bell from outside rings sharply.) Hark! 
Bianca. The courtyard bell ! ( The bell sounds again clam- 
orously.) What can that mean ? 

28 



THE TOCSIN 

Marianna. Brother Angelo said he saw a troop of armed 
men riding this way post-haste. 

Abbot. Bernardo must be calling your men-at-arms to- 
gether. (Going toward the door.) I will see what it means. 

Bianca. The country is thick with marauders. 

(As the Abbot reaches the door it is flung violently open 
and Lorenzo, escorted by two soldiers of the Papal Guard, 
rushes in. Marianna half starts toward him, then draws 
back.) 

Abbot. Lorenzo ! 

Lorenzo. You here, Reverend Father! 

Abbot. And you, under Papal guard ! 

Lorenzo. Where is Sir Walter Howard? I have papers 
for him. I am under sentence of death. 

( The Abbot with an inarticulate cry of horror throws 
one arm about Lorenzo's shoulder.) 

Bianca. Death ! 

Lorenzo. I had audience with His Holiness, private letters 
to deliver. In reaching for them in my bosom a loaded 
pistol fell to the ground. 

Abbot (with a cry of anguish). My boy! 

Bianca. Ah, the new edict ! 

Lorenzo. Yes, death to carry loaded weapons in the pres- 
ence of His Holiness. 

Abbot. But this is not Papal territory. Surely the Grand 
Duke 

Lorenzo. The Grand Duke was there and confirmed the 
decree. 

Abbot. My God! 

Lorenzo. Where is Sir Walter? I am alive for an hour 
only. This packet I have sworn on the Holy Sacrament 
to deliver into his hands. 

29 



THE TOCSIN 

Bianca. And then? 

Lorenzo. Shot. 

( The deep emotion which appeared almost to overwhelm 
the Abbot gives place to a controlled composure. He speaks 
rapidly but as a man with all his senses quickened and 
calmed by the necessity for affion.) 

Abbot (to a servant). Call Sir Walter. (Exit the servant. 
'The Abbot turns to Lorenzo.) How many men have you ? 
(Lorenzo goes to the door and opens it silently, disclosing a 
row of armed men.) And this castle musters — see, the 
window ledge and the ivy will take you down. We can 
master these two men silently — then 

Lorenzo. My word. 

Abbot. Child's play. 

Lorenzo. I swore it. 

Abbot. A curse on your woman's breeding! I am your 
father confessor ; I absolve you. I will swear to Sixtus I 
forced you. 

Lorenzo. And answer for it with your life! (Enter Sir 
Walter.) Ah, Sir Walter! (He draws him apart.) 

Bianca (opening a curtained recess). You can be private 
here. 

(Lorenzo, Sir Walter and the guards enter the recess. 
Bianca closes the curtain. Marianna remains in the back- 
ground.) 

Abbot (to Bianca). A forlorn hope, but I will post to Pis- 
toia, see His Holiness 

Bianca. Are you in such favor there? 

Abbot. Bad odor enough, with my lax rule. ( Hurries to 
the door.) 

Bianca (following and detaining him). I know a better way. 
The Grand Duke 

3° 



THE TOCSIN 

Abbot ( turning eagerly ) . Ah ! 

Bianca. Sixtus sups tonight with the Grand Duke. He 
desires of all things to keep friendship with Florence. I 
will ask Lorenzo's life of the Grand Duke ! 

Abbot [seizing her hand with a burst of hope). And when 

Bianca sues 

( Marianna, breathless, steals unobserved nearer.) 

Bianca. One of the brothers shall take my message. 

Marianna [starting forward and clutching the Abbot 1 s robe). 
No — I — I will take the message! 

Abbot {seizing Marianna roughly). Eavesdropping! 

Marianna {sinking her eyes). When it concerns the fate 
of one you love ! 

Bianca. Is the boy to be trusted? 

Marianna. Yes, yes! O gracious lady, they rescued me 
from death at the abbey. {'Turning to the Abbot again.) 
Trust me, trust me! O Reverend Father, let me go! 

Bianca. The boy's face will be a passport. {The Abbot 
rings a bell for a servant.) Here, child {to Marianna, 
drawing off a ring), post to the palace, demand entrance. 
Insist this ring shall reach the hands of the Grand Duke. 
He will see you. Say to him, " Bianca delle Torre asks 
her first favor of Francesco de' Medici — the life of her 
cousin's ward, Lorenzo Tornabuoni," and here {Bi- 
anca goes to the table and writes a few lines, Marianna 
standing by.) 

Abbot {to servant who enters). Bernardo and five of his 
men shall ride with this boy to Pistoia. A hundred gold 
pieces to each if they are back before the hour. Now 
Gabriello — laggard — off, off! {Exeunt Marianna and 
servant.) 

Bianca. Who is the boy ? 

3 1 



THE TOCSIN 

Abbot. Brother Sebastiano picked him up more dead than 
alive by the roadside. He is country bred, that is all I 
know. I have had him by me and he seems to cling to 
me in a dumb way. 

Bianca. He found speech tonight. 

Abbot (as the clock strikes). Ah! that must be mended. 
(He sets back the hands of the clock.) Too fast by a half- 
hour. 

Bianca. But there are other clocks on the castle. 

Abbot. Then make them tell the same tale. 

Bianca. That is soon done. (Exit Bianca.) 

Abbot (opening the window ', through which comes a rapid 
clatter of hoofs). There they go! There's Gabriello! 
Why, the boy is mad. The mare can never keep that 
pace. ( 'The clatter grows fainter.) Five minutes to the 
city gate, three to the palace, then delays, delays ! Out 
of sight now, behind the cypresses. 
(Enter Bianca.) 

Bianca (pointing to the recess). Still closeted with Sir 
Walter? 

Abbot. Those cursed plots! And it was I got the boy 
into this coil ! 

Bianca (seating herself). Surely you have no interest in 
Mary of Scotland? 

Abbot. I sent Lorenzo out of the country to keep him 
from an act of folly. What piece of womanhood do you 
think he was mad to marry? 

Bianca. His mistress — like the Grand Duke? 

Abbot. Why, the boy is an anchorite. No, a peasant girl, 
a contadina off his estates here in the Apennines. Marry, 
I say! 

Bianca. Is he simple? 

32 



THE TOCSIN 

Abbot. Was I not, to let him follow his bent and grow up 
in that mountain tower of his with peasants and holy 
sisters as his companions ? {He seats himself near Bianca.) 

Bianca {starting). What holy sisters? 

Abbot. You have heard of Sister Maddalena ? 

Bianca. She again! 

Abbot. Lorenzo first came under her spell and was all for 
the cloister, but now it is marriage and his contadina. In 
that Arcadia, you see, they still believe in God and 
love. 

Bianca. Perhaps at his age you too held love worthy of a 
shrine. 

Abbot. Of a shrine, yes; of worship, yes; of belief, hardly. 

Bianca. Subtle distinction for the brain of a woman. 

Abbot. Do I not worship your proud eyes, but, pardon 
me, do I believe in them ? 

Bianca. A little more belief and they might have proved 
worthier. 

Abbot. Is belief so potent a god? Come, let us believe in 
one another and be saints instead of sinners. {He rises 
and goes to the window ', then returns.) Countess ! 

Bianca. Cousin ! 

Abbot. What all England failed to do, you can. 

Bianca. What is that ? 

Abbot. Win me my boy away from this folly. 

Bianca. I ? 

Abbot. A glance, a smile, a what you will, and in the dip 
of a swallow's wing, he is yours. 

Bianca. And the little peasant maid ? 

Abbot. I will send her a pair of earrings. 

Bianca {with sudden passion). And why do you choose me 
for this? Do you think there are not enough of you 

33 



THE TOCSIN 

men about me fawning and flattering and lying, but I 

must stoop to your devil's work? 
Abbot. Well, let it lie. Let the boy marry his coarse- 
skinned beauty. What does it matter? 
Bianca [bitterly). Yes, what does it matter? He will forget 

her in time. As well now as then. 
Abbot. Then I can count on you? 
Bianca. I am weary of it all! 
Abbot. Still, if he lives, you will help me. {He goes to the 

window and opens it. A faint sound of distant bells is heard.) 

Hark ! the bells of Pistoia striking the hour. 

{Enter the Captain of the Papal Guard and his men. 'The 

Abbot hastily closes the window?) 
Captain. The prisoner. 

{Enter from the recess two guards ', Lorenzo and Sir 

Walter.) 
Abbot {pointing to the clock). Not yet — the clock is not 

yet on the hour. 
Captain. The cathedral chimes are striking. Your clock 

is slow. 
Bianca. Pardon me, sir, this clock is absolutely true. 

Captain. But the cathedral chimes 

Abbot. It was the quarter you heard. But there are other 

clocks in the castle. Send one of your men to verify 

this. 
Captain. I will go myself. 
Bianca. And I will show you the way. 
Captain. You honor me, gracious lady. {Exeunt Bianca, 

Sir Walter and Captain. The soldiers take their station by 

the door. The Abbot and Lorenzo come forward.) 
Lorenzo {giving him a packet). For Sister Maddalena. 
Abbot. Where is the sister? 

34 



THE TOCSIN 

Lorenzo. Wherever death is busiest ; and this (giving the 
Abbot another -packet ), you will send a trusty messenger 
with this to Marianna — O Father! ('Turns away.) 

Abbot. Why, courage, my boy. 

Lorenzo, And now to make my peace with Heaven ! 

Abbot. You are not going to Heaven yet. 

Lorenzo. To the chapel. The Holy Sacrament, Rever- 
end Father, before I die. 

Abbot. Die ? Why, faint heart, there is a friend even now 
pleading for you with His Holiness. 

Lorenzo. Sister Maddalena? 

Abbot. Francesco de' Medici. 

Lorenzo. He is no friend of mine. 

Abbot. No, but of our Countess. She has sent a messen- 
ger to beg your life. 

Lorenzo. Why should de' Medici do her that grace ? Is 
it true then that she 

Abbot. Hush ! Ask why of a woman ? Come, lift up your 
head and gloriously embrace your life when it comes 
back to you. 

Lorenzo. The gift of a wanton ! 
(Enter Bianca and Captain?) 

Bianca. The clocks all tell the same tale. 

Captain. With a singular uniformity. 

Abbot (to the Captain). Well, then, a little patience. Death 
will wait, and till we are ready for him, with the permis- 
sion of the Countess, a cup of wine together. (He goes 
with the Captain to the table by the fireplace.) 

Bianca. Be seated, gentlemen. (They seat themselves and 
talk. Lorenzo stands moodily in the foreground. Bianca goes 
to him. He pays no attention?) 

Bianca. Can I do anything for you ? 

35 



THE TOCSIN 

Lorenzo [roughly). You have done too much already, 

Countess. 
Bianca. I do not understand. 
Lorenzo. Can you shrive me? There is the Reverend 

Father at his cups, and in a half-hour I shall be dead in 

a ditch without bell or book. 
Bianca. Do you not see we must blind the Captain to our 

tampering with the clocks ? Keep up hope. The pardon 

must come. 
Lorenzo. Not at this price. No, I will not touch it. I 

have had clean hands till now. 
Bianca. I do not follow you. Why do you turn from me ? 

Clean hands ? What do you mean ? You will not speak ? 

Not look at me ? Holy saints ! I hope there is nothing 

on your conscience that your eyes cannot meet mine. 
Lorenzo. {Lifts his eyes slowly and fixes them on Bianca. 

She gazes back with a long direcJ look. 'They stand silent 

awhile.) And yet you look 

Bianca. Look ? 

Lorenzo. Why should de' Medici grant you this favor? 
Bianca. Why should he? Why? [Turns away.) Ah, that 

was why you could not look at me. By St. Agnes! I 

believe you were thinking evil of me. 

Lorenzo. Forgive me — but they say — they say 

Bianca [proudly). No more. My pity for you made me 

blind. I forgot here in my secluded widowhood how 

cruelly the world may misjudge a woman. 
Lorenzo. I was a brute. I had not looked in your face. 

But now 

Bianca. Let me tell you why the Grand Duke is kind to 

me. 
Lorenzo. No, no! Your eyes have explained all. 

36 



THE TOCSIN 

Bianca. But you shall hear me. When the Grand Duke 
married Bianca Cappello 

Lorenzo. Do not speak of Bianca Cappello ! 

Bianca. But I bear her name, Bianca — and I too am from 
Venice — and at the wedding pageants (I was a child 
then), they dressed me in white and I carried a golden 
casket holding a milk-white dove. And I knelt at their 
feet and presented the dove, but the bird flew back and 
nestled in my breast. And the Grand Duke was touched 
and asked my name, and when I said Bianca, told me for 
that name I should always be dear to his heart. 

Lorenzo. The white dove nestles still in your breast. Can 
you forgive me? (He takes her hand. They move back, 
talking?) 

Captain (laughing). Very good, Reverend Father, but the 
time ! (He rises and looks at the clock.) 

Abbot. But Monsignor's answer was still better. He 
said 

Captain. One moment, Reverend Father, that watch of 
your Reverence's — that famous watch they talk of in 
Florence, and which never lies, — has your Reverence that 
with you ? 

Bianca (aside to Lorenzo). Alas, we forgot to set it back! 

Abbot (rising and standing by chimney). Unfortunately I 
left it in the monastery. 

Captain. And yet as I sat by you just now I could have 
sworn I heard it ticking. 

Abbot (thrusting his hand in his robe). You are right. I 
forgot, Brother Angelo posted after me with it. 

Captain. I have a curiosity to see one of these little bosom 
consciences. (He approaches the Abbot and holds out his 
hand.) 

37 



THE TOCSIN 

Abbot. With all the pleasure in the world. {He draws the 
watch out and as he does so, drops it, as it were inadver- 
tently on the marble hearth, with a crash. All start for- 
ward.) 

Abbot. Per Bacco I 

Bianca. What a misfortune ! 

Lorenzo. Your famous watch ! 

Captain. Most singular calamity. 

Abbot {picking it up). I shall have to preach another 
sermon. 

Captain ( to Lorenzo ). Your time is short. 

{Abbot hastens to the window and opens it. Lorenzo 
joins him.) 

Abbot. The moon is out again. 

Bianca [to the Captain). Come and sit by the fire, Signor, 
the night is cold. 

Captain [pointing to the clock). Pardon me, lady. 

Abbot ( at the window ). A horse, a horse — riderless — no ! 
the boy bent low over the saddle bow! 

Captain. The prisoner will make his farewells. 

( The Abbot leans breathless out of the window. The 
distant clatter of horses' hoofs is heard drawing nearer. 
Lorenzo falls at the Abbot's feet and takes his hand. Bianca 
joins them and looks over the Abbot's shoulder.) 

Lorenzo. Your blessing, Father. 

Abbot {paying no attention to Lorenzo ). Past the campanile, 
the cypresses, now the long loop in the road. What ! He 
leaps the wall and tears across the gorse! {The clatter 
ceases.) Brave boy ! Mad boy ! The mare can never take 
the next wall ! 

Bianca. Holy Virgin, he has leapt it! {The clatter of hoofs 
is heard again louder and louder. The clock begins to strike.) 

38 



THE TOCSIN 

Captain {to the guard). The prisoner! 

( The guard approach Lorenzo, who rises. The hoof-beats 

cease?) 
Abbot. At the gate ! 
Lorenzo. Father, your blessing. {The guard form about 

Lorenzo.) 
Captain. March ! [As the clock is on the last stroke of 

twelve, the door is thrown open and Marianna rushes in 

waving a paper. Lorenzo's back is turned.) 
Marianna {breathlessly and faintly). The pardon, the 

pardon ! 

{The Abbot snatches the paper from her.) 
Abbot. The pardon ! 

{The soldiers draw away from Lorenzo who falls at 

Bianca's feet and kisses her hand.) 
Lorenzo. You have saved my life! 

Marianna ( at the door). No, I — I 

{No one observes her. She looks at Bianca and Lorenzo, 

throws up her arms with a gesture of despair and hurries 

from the room.) 
Abbot ( looking up from the pardon ). But the boy, Gabriello, 

where is he? 



39 




Act III 

A green meadow with Castle delle I'orre in the background. 
Behind its towers rise the peaks of the Apennines. In the 
center is a wayside shrine to the Virgin, approached by broad 
stone steps and a stone platform. Sister Maddalena is kneel- 
ing at the top of the steps before the shrine. A peasant and 
his wife enter, leading a child, its hands full of field flowers. 



Peasant Woman {to the child). Yes, Lillo shall be lifted 
up in my arms and shall lay the pretty flowers himself 
at the feet of Madonna. 

Peasant {pointing to Sister Maddalena). Ah, a sister of 
St. Francis. 

Peasant Woman. Blessed saints ! I know her by her 
worn hands! It is the Holy Sister Maddalena! {She 
sinks on her knees at the bottom of the steps and pulls the 
child down after her.) Look, little one ! It was she saved 
you from death when the fever was on you. 

Peasant {kneeling and taking off his hat). Quiet, little one ! 

Peasant Woman {to her husband). Run, Niccolo, and 
fetch old Bratti and the miller's daughter, that she may 
lay her blessed hands on them and cure them. 

4° 



THE TOCSIN 

Peasant (rising). Well said. (He goes out softly. The woman 
tells her beads, while the child, weary with kneeling, sinks 
into a sitting posture and plays with his flowers. Three 
peasant girls enter with their hoes and baskets. The woman 
motions to them and whispers.) 

Peasant Woman. The Holy Sister Maddalena ! She who 
saved my Lillo. 

( The girls look awestruck, and one whispers, " Ah, the 
holy saint ! " They cross themselves and kneel. One begins 
softly to sing an Ave Maria, the others take it up. Sister 
Maddalena stirs, but still prays, kneeling. As the hymn dies 
away the peasant returns leading a decrepit old man and 
followed by a pale young girl.) 

Peasant (to his charges). Here, close to the steps, so that 
her blessing may fall first on you. 

( They kneel. Sister Maddalena stirs, raises her hands to 
Heaven and rising slowly turns and looks down on the kneel- 
ing group. They gaze at her in awe. She lets her eyes rest 
silently and solemnly on each, standing up tall and pale in 
her gray Franciscan robe. Her eyes fall full of pity on old 
Bratti and the miller s daughter.) 

Peasant Woman. Your blessing, Holy Sister. 

All. Bless us, bless us. 

Sister Maddalena. I can but pray for you. Heaven 
alone blesses. 

Peasant Woman (holding up Lillo). See, Holy Sister, the 
little one. He was sick to death when you passed here 
in the spring, and you laid your hands upon him and 
now he leaps like a young kid. ( Taking old Bratti' s hand.) 
Lay your blessed hands on this old man, Madonna. 

Sister Maddalena (descending the steps slowly and laying 
her hand on BrattVs head). You will not suffer long. 

41 



THE TOCSIN 

{She turns to the miller's daughter.) You should be in 
your bed. Where do you live ? 

Miller's Daughter. In the mill yonder, Sister. 

Sister Maddalena. Go home. I will come to you soon. 

Miller's Daughter. And stay with us, Sister? 

Sister Maddalena. No. They need me in Florence. 

All [clamoring). In Florence? O Holy Sister, the pestilence, 
the pestilence ! You will die ! Do not leave us ! Do not 
go to Florence ! ( 'They cluster about her, kissing her hands 
and the hem of her garments. She tries to prevent them.) 

Sister Maddalena. Not to me! Not to me! 

{Enter Marianna in peasant's dress. She falls on her 
knees before Sister Maddalena, who stoops and raises her 
tenderly!) 

Sister Maddalena. Marianna! 

Marianna. O Sister, Sister ! 

Sister Maddalena {with authority to the peasants). Go 
now. {To the miller's daughter!) I will come to you 
soon. {Exeunt all but Sister Maddalena and Marianna.) 
You promised to be at the gate. 

Marianna. Do not reproach me. O Sister, let me lay my 
head on your breast, for I am sick unto death. 

Sister Maddalena. Where is the pain, little one ? 

Marianna. Here in my heart. 

Sister Maddalena. The Holy Virgin will comfort you. 

Marianna {looking up and pointing off, with a shrinking fear). 
O angeli beatil they are here. Come away, Sister. 

Sister Maddalena {turning in the direction in which Mari- 
anna is pointing, and starting as with a great thrill). The 
Father in white ! Who is he ? Who is he ? 

Marianna. The Abbot of San Raffaello. O Sister, come 



away ! 



4 2 



THE TOCSIN 

Sister Maddalena. Abbot? Simple priest, then. But he 
it is, none other. " O Lord, now lettest thou thy servant 
depart in peace ! " 

Marianna (plucking at Sister Maddalena s robe). Come, 
Sister. 

Sister Maddalena (unmindful of Marianna). To speak 
to him before I die ! 

Marianna. Not now ! O Sister, come ! 

Sister Maddalena. Wandering in green fields, and Flor- 
ence dying ? ( Checking herself.) Peace ! That I should 
dare question the ways of the Lord's anointed. Yet shall 
he bless me before I go ! ( She starts away, oblivious of 
Marianna, who clings to her robe.) 

Marianna (piteously). You too forsake me? 

Sister Maddalena. Let me go. (She tries to unclasp 
Marianna' s hands.) 

Marianna. O Sister, my heart is breaking ! 

Sister Maddalena (in violent agitation and almost harshly). 
Do not stop me. Unclasp your hands. 

Marianna. When were you ever deaf to me before ? 

Sister Maddalena (in increasing excitement, while her whole 
body seems to sway in the direction in which her eyes are 
straining). The Lord has promised me. I prayed but 
one thing of the Lord, that I might meet once more, 
face to face, mine angel of deliverance, fall at his feet 

Marianna (despairingly and letting go the sister's dress). 

He does not need you, but I, I 

(Sister Maddalena, freed, starts forward. Marianna, 
with a cry, buries her face in her hands and sinks to the 
ground. At the cry Sister Maddalena checks her flight, turns 
and looks back.) 

Sister Maddalena (panting with the violent conflicl of her 

43 



THE TOCSIN 

emotions). O Lord, not this sacrifice ! Show me not the 
Promised Land and bind my feet! The time is short! 
(She half starts away once more, then looks back and echoes 
Marianna's words.) Not need me! (She utters a bitter 
cry.) Alas, how should the cherished of the Most High 
need such as I ? (A deep quivering sigh bursts from her 
lips. The light fades from her face. Her arms fall to her 
sides. She turns slowly to Marianna, an expression of in- 
finite pity creeping into her eyes as she looks down on her. 
She opens her arms with a gesture of noble and tender pro- 
tetlion.) Come, little one. (Marianna leaps to her feet 
and throws herself on Sister Maddalena's breast; then lifting 
her head gazes off and points as in an agony.) 

Marianna. Lorenzo! Come, come away. (She draws the 
sister feverishly by the robe and they go out.) 

(Enter from grove Lorenzo and Bianca, Lorenzo carry- 
ing a spray of white hawthorn.) 

Bianca. We have outstripped the rest. 

Lorenzo (looking off in evident agitation). Sister Madda- 
lena ? No, it cannot be. 

Bianca (absorbed in trying to gain his attention and with an 
evident undercurrent of fear lest she may not). You do not 
thank me for having given them the slip ? And all for 
you. 

Lorenzo (coldly). For me today. For whom tomorrow? 
( He turns away. Bianca watches him, her brow contratling. 
She fingers her dress nervously, then approaches him and 
holds out her hand with a gesture half beseeching^) 

Bianca. I wait. My hawthorn. 

Lorenzo (moodily). It was not of you I thought when I 
pulled it. 

Bianca. Of whom, then ? 

44 



THE TOCSIN 

{Lorenzo moves away with his eyes on the ground. Sud- 
denly he stands motionless, then kneels down beside a tuft of 
violets. Bianca follows unobserved.) 

Lorenzo. Blue violets ! ( He puts out his hand as if to touch 
them, then draws it away as if stung.) Marianna's eyes! 

Bianca {aside). Marianna's eyes! {Aloud.) Why did you 
start back ? 

Lorenzo. Something — stung me. 

Bianca. Still they are sweet. Pick them. 

Lorenzo {covering the violet tuft with a swift protecting 
gesture). No! 

Bianca. Why will you not gather them ? 

Lorenzo {passionately). Because I am not worthy, not 
worthy, O my God ! ( He rises and turns from her, and 
half kneels on the lowest step of the shrined) 

Bianca ( looking down at the violets). And yet I could crush 
them with my foot. {She stands musing, then goes slowly 
toward him. He does not turn. She stands beside him. He 
keeps his eyes turned from her. She lifts her hand and 
lightly touches his forehead and hair.) You look pale, 
Lorenzino. Pardon my touch, but those little damp 
curls on your forehead are so like my brother's, who died 
young. {He partly turns toward her, as though the spell 
of her beauty were more than he could resist. Bianca still 
plays with his hair.) Why, one has twined round my 
finger like a betrothal ring. I am weary, too, Lorenzo 
mio. Such weariness I never knew before. 

Lorenzo. I am sorry. 

Bianca. I was waking late last night over an old book 
of poems. One stuck in my memory. I hardly know 
what it means. Perhaps you can tell me. It runs 
thus : 

45 



THE TOCSIN 

" Oh, I've a Queen rose in my bower, 
(She lays one hand on her breast) 

But the white hawthorn is in flower ! 

{She takes the spray of hawthorn from his unresisting hand) 

Down in the sunny lane it blows, — 
Be thou patient, my royal rose. 
I have a mind for one white spray : 

(She sighs) 

See, I will wear it here today ; 

(She fastens it in his bosom, reading in his ardent eyes that 

she has conquered, and with a ring of triumph in her voice) 

Only today, sweet rustic flower, 

For I have a Queen rose in my bower." 

(She draws herself up with a superb gesture and flings 
back her head.) 

Lorenzo (tearing the hawthorn from his bosom and throwing 
it underfoot). What is the white hawthorn to me when 
I have my Queen rose ? ( He tries to seize her hands but 
she draws them away and glides off, smiling at him over her 
shoulder.) 

Bianca (tantalizingly). Have you your Queen rose? (She 
points back.) Here are others come to gather it. 

Lorenzo. Never. (He seizes her hand roughly.) Come, 
you shall listen to me. 

Bianca (waving her hand to Count Salviati and Sir Walter 
who enter from the grove). The dance is beginning. Make 
haste. (They start forward, but Lorenzo hurries Bianca 

off-) 
Sir Walter (pausing). Fairly outstripped in the race. 
Count Salviati (shrugging his shoulders). And by a mere 

boy. My scheme, too. She plays her part well, — if it is 

a part. 

4 6 



THE TOCSIN 

{Enter the Abbot, poring over an open scroll.) 

Sir Walter. What does his Reverence say to it ? 

Count Salviati {to the Abbot). Your pardon for hurry- 
ing ahead. Has your Reverence observed the dance our 
fair will-o'-the-wisp is leading your ward ? 

Abbot {with affetled solemnity). Varium et mutabile semper 
femina. Gentlemen, I will give her ghostly counsel. ( He 
seats himself on the stone step.) 

Count Salviati. And let the moral be the shortness of 
Lorenzo's rent roll and the length of mine. 

Sir Walter {pointing in the direction in which Bianca and 
Lorenzo have gone). See, the peasant girls are gathered 
on the green. 

Count Salviati. And there is the music. {The sound of 
distant rustic dance music is heard.) Surely your Rever- 
ence will go on to t\\&festa? 

Abbot {poring over his scroll). My new library pleases 
me better than your thick-ankled contadine. See, gentle- 
men, of Carrara marble and well set among the cypresses. 
{'They look over the Abbot's shoulder.) 

Sir Walter. Your Reverence's taste is known. 

{Enter Brother Sebastiano hastily. He gives a paper to 
the Abbot.) 

Brother Sebastiano. From Florence, Reverend Father. 

Abbot. And you have been near the messenger? Stand 
back. ( He opens the scroll and reads.) " The streets pop- 
ulated but by the unburied dead ; a noisome pall hanging 
over the city; groans, curses, purple corpses heaped in 

the charnel-houses " {As he reads an involuntary 

shudder passes over him. The repulsion felt by a beauty- 
loving nature for the foul and ugly fills him with a sickening 
disgust. He tears the paper vehemently into bits.) Pah ! 

47 



THE TOCSIN 

the Prior used not to have such bad taste. {Harshly to 
Brother Sebastiano.) We know all this. Why do you wait? 

Brother Sebastiano. The answer, Reverend Father. 

Abbot. What answer? Have I not thrown open my abbey 
to the miserable wretches? My refectories? My gar- 
dens ? Go. 

Brother Sebastiano. They starve, Reverend Father. 

Abbot. Who ? The dead ? There are none but the dead 
left in Florence. ( He turns away, then -perceiving Brother 
Sebastiano still timidly lingering, he fingers a ring he wears.) 
What, not yet gone ? Here, then. {He draws off the ring.) 
Take that. Sell it at Pistoia, and mind, at its worth. 
Prince Farnese gave it to me. {Brother Sebastiano turns 
to go.) And wait ! my service of wrought gold, Cellini's 
work ; the Cardinal will give you a lapful of broad pieces 
for it. He fancied it when he last supped with me. Sell 
it and feed and bury with it. Now go; and mind {with 
a sudden gust of passion), no more of your reeking tales! 
Do you think I do not know how they look, who die of 
the plague ? The swollen limbs, the starting eyes, the 

pestilent odor, the ( He stands for a moment with 

wide eyes j as though transfixed with unspeakable horror; 
then passing his hand over his forehead, turns to the others 
with an attempt to assume his former lightness of manner. 
'The Brother goes out.) Pardon me, gentlemen. This un- 
couth simplicity, with his tales unfit for ears polite — 
from a child up, such sights and sounds have always 
unnerved me — but pardon me, as I was saying {he 
spreads out the plan of his library) — of Carrara marble, 
the frieze by Gian Bologna, a troop of drowsy leopards 
teased by dancing nymphs. {He shivers again slightly 
and draws a long breath.) 

+ 8 



THE TOCSIN 

Count Salviati. Your Reverence half persuades me to 
join your order. 

Abbot. You shall be cellarer in place of Brother Gregorius. 
I mistrust Brother Gregorius; his paunch is too round. 
(Z/<? makes certain marks on the parchment.) 

Sir Walter. Shall we not go on to the village ? ( He points 
off uneasily.) 

Abbot. Pardon me, gentlemen. Here is a mistake. I will 
wait your return. The loggia lacks airiness. I must speak 
to Gian Bologna. 

Count Salviati. Had your Reverence cared, you could 
have beaten every architect in Italy on his own ground. 

Abbot. Count Salviati is too kind. And had I taken to 
the arts, what would Holy Church have done? 

{Enter a group of peasant girls, gaily dressed, on their 
way to the festa. 'They make a reverence to the Abbot and 
are about to hurry on, when Count Salviati detains them.) 

Count Salviati. Not so fast, my beauties. Here is music; 
here are partners. 

Sir Walter. The Countess 

Count Salviati. We have pursued too long. Let us try 
a show of indifference. ( He takes the hand of a girl, Sir 
Walter that of another. The Abbot paces up and down, 
poring over his parchment.) 

Abbot. Yes, the loggia lacks airiness. {He shivers.) Pah! 
the fellow has left the smell of the charnel-house behind 
him. When I return, every building they have dese- 
crated shall be razed to the ground — not a stone left 
standing. And some fools there are that have stayed 
behind. That sexless gray-robe, with her face of chalk, 
that flitted past us at the gate, was hurrying to Florence, 
it may be, and hoping to win eternal glory. Per Bacco! 

49 



THE TOCSIN 

the eternal glory of this world is enough for me, could I 
forget, — forget ! Ah, why did the imbecile come thrust- 
ing the taint of his purple corpses into this pure air! 
Come, my loggia ! Gian Bologna shall not touch it. I 
myself shall make such a dream of wrought stone as will 
be the marvel of all ages. {He moves off into the grove. 
The music comes suddenly to a stop and then begins in a 
minor ; plaintive key.) 

Count Salviati {taking a few more turns with his partner, 
then pausing). Who could dance to that dirge? 

Peasant Girl. It must be the blind fiddler from Prato. 

Count Salviati. Let us make him change his tune. {He 
goes out with Sir Walter and the peasant girls. The Abbot 
paces back and forth from the grove, immersed in his plan.) 

Abbot {his head over the parchment). And here a column 
of red porphyry. These capitals I shall myself design. 
{He disappears into the grove just as Marianna comes in on 
the other side. She keeps out of sight behind the shrine till 
the Abbot has gsne and then she hurries to the spot where 
the discarded hawthorn spray is lying, picks it up, kisses it 
and places it in her bosom. She turns and looks back.) 

Marianna. But where is Sister Maddalena, now that I 
have brought her back to his Reverence? Oh, if I dared 
see him too, and send one word to Lorenzo ! ( Looking 
off.) Ah, she is waiting to bless that old man, and yet she 
seemed in such haste I could scarce keep up with her. 
{She takes the hawthorn from her bosom and kisses it pas- 
sionately.) He pulled it, he held it, and she, she put it in 
his bosom and he plucked it out and threw it away. What 
was she saying to him? She touched his hair! O Holy 
Virgin, she touched the little curls on his forehead, and 
I — I had ridden through the night for him. I saved 

5° 



THE TOCSIN 

him from death and he never knew. {She mounts the steps 
languidly to the shrine ', throws herself down before it, kisses 
the hawthorn spray and lays it at Mary *s feet. T'hen she 
snatches it up vehemently and holds it against her breast.) 
No, no, not this, Holy Mother, I cannot give you this. 
He held it. It is still warm from his touch. The fields 
are blood-red with poppies; I will pull my hands full 
for you, and my heart, my broken heart, that I lay at 
your feet, but these flowers, do not ask me for these, 
Mother of Sorrows, not these. {She puts the hawthorn 
in the folds of her bodice, rises and turns slowly. T'he Abbot 
has come from the grove and is looking intently at her. As, 
absorbed in her grief she descends the steps, he comes for- 
ward.) 

Abbot. Gabriello ! 

Marianna {starting and covering her face). Father! 

Abbot {taking her hands from her face). We have sought 
the country over for you. Why are you masking here ? 

Marianna. I am not masking, Reverend Father. 

Abbot {looking at her fixedly). No, your blushes tell me 
that. {His voice sounds hard, as one suffering a disillusion- 
ment.) How is it you can still blush? The masking 
came before. 

Marianna. Forgive me, Father. 

Abbot. You saved Lorenzo. Can there be talk of forgive- 
ness ? Come, that he may reward you. 

Marianna {shrinking away). No, no. 

Abbot. And you housed with us at the convent and we 
never knew! {After a pause.) There was something 
about you, boy — there I fall into the old trick — but 
there was something in your eyes of the freshness of the 
fields that half made me believe again in the old nursery 

si 



THE TOCSIN 

legends of pure women and brave men ; but, after all 

{he laughs cynically). 
Marianna. O Reverend Father, forgive me ! I know it 

was a sin, but I meant no wrong. O Father, I had never 

left my home before, but he had been gone so long, so 

long, and I did not know where he was. And I thought 

if I called myself after the blessed Archangel Gabriel, no 

harm could come to me. 
Abbot. Who had been gone so long? 
Marianna [sinking her eyes). He — is living — near here. 
Abbot. One of the villagers ? {Marianna makes no reply.) 

And he had gone to Florence ? And you followed him ? 

Where is he now? 
Marianna {almost inaudibly). He loves me no longer, 

Father. 
Abbot {stooping to hear, and his old belief and tenderness 

rushing back). Loves you no longer? 
Marianna. No, Father. 
Abbot. He loves some one else? {Marianna covers her 

face with her hands.) Then you hate him ? 
Marianna {uncovering her face). Hate him? O Father, 

I first know now how I love him. And every day, every 

hour I pray for his happiness. 
Abbot. His happiness with her ? You call this love? 
Marianna. Why, Father, how could I help but long for 

him to be happy ? I love him. 
Abbot. Love him ? So was I never loved ! 
Marianna. Is not this love? I cannot read in the great 

books you pore over; perhaps it stands written in them 

what love is ; I only know this : when he loved me I was 

in paradise, and now that he has forgotten me, I pray the 

Holy Mother to let me die and to make him happy. 

52 



THE TOCSIN 

Abbot [deeply moved and taking her hands reverently}. He 
must love you again. He shall. He is not worthy of 
you — no man could be. But who is the man? Let me 
go to him. If he were the son of the Grand Duke, you 
should have him. I never knew women could love like 
this ! Where is he ? Tell me, child. Trust me, little one. 

Marianna. It is — he is 

{Lorenzo's voice is heard outside.) 

Lorenzo {calling). No, Count, we wait for no loiterers. 

Marianna ( starting ). Ah ! 

Abbot. Trust me, child. 

Marianna [trembling). They are returning from the dance. 
Come, Father, not now, not now. (She draws him with 
her to the grove. A group of peasants pass, then Lorenzo 
and Bianca enter.) 

Bianca. What, not a pair of bright eyes among them ? 

Lorenzo. I saw only yours. 

Bianca. Oh, Lorenzo, I hear such speech too often. 

Lorenzo. Never listen to it from others, only from me — 
from me. 

Bianca (letting her hand rest in his and sighing). I wish I 
had not gone to the dance. 

Lorenzo. Why do you sigh ? 

Bianca. Those peasant girls, after all they love as we do. 
I read it in their eyes. 

Lorenzo. Do not sigh. 

Bianca. It had been better for you and better for me if I 
had sighed more in my life. As I look back, it seems 
all a mad dream. 

Lorenzo. Because love was lacking. 

Bianca (wistfully). Love? 

Lorenzo (looking back). What! Sister Maddalena here? 

53 



THE TOCSIN 

Bianca. Ah ! 

Lorenzo. I cannot meet her now. 

Bianca {shuddering). No, no. The crown of thorns ! She 
said, yet should I come ! {They look at each other fearfully 
and guiltily and hurry out. Marianna staggers from the 
grove to the shrine.) 

Marianna. Lorenzo ! O Mother of Sorrows ! 

Abbot {catching her in his arms as she falls fainting). Lor- 
enzo, the man ? And you, Marianna ? And it was I lured 
Bianca to come between you ! O Lorenzo, my boy, to 
have robbed you of this — you whom I love better than 
life ! O my God, what have I done ! 

( He kneels down by Marianna, raises her reverently and 
tenderly on his breast and bears her out. Groups of peasants 
returning from the festa continue to pass, among them Count 
Salviati and his partner. Count Salviati puts his arm about 
the girl but she pushes it away.) 

Peasant Girl. Not now; do you not see the Holy Sister 
is following us ? 

Count Salviati. Make haste, then. {'They go on, and amid 
a group of villagers Sister Maddalena enters. When she 
reaches the shrine she pauses and looks eagerly about.) 

Sister Maddalena {breathlessly). Marianna? Where is 
she? 

Villagers. Farewell, Sister. Bless us. {They kneel for her 
blessing, which she gives automatically as though her thoughts 
were far from them. They rise and go out. As the last one 
leaves, she throws up her arms with a gesture of joyous 
exultation.) 

Sister Maddalena. Now! {She turns toward the castle.) 
O blessed walls that give him shelter ! Oh, after all these 
years, at last, at last! {She starts forward, then hurries to 

54 



THE TOCSIN 

the shrine?) One prayer, first, of thanksgiving! [She 
mounts the steps and throws herself down before the Virgin, 
but after a moment rises feverishly and fearfully ', her face 
full of perturbation?) What has come to me ? I have no 
words to pray. Only a great sea of joy surging over me, 
and his face, his and not the Virgin Mother's ! Oh, is it 
any mortal longing that moves me ? Is the old taint not 
yet scourged away ? The flesh still uncrucified ? (In 
agonized inward conflicl.) O Lord, Lord ! it is for Thee 
and for Thy glory I would fall at his feet, — he who 
brought me to Thee ! Have mercy on Thy hand-maiden ! 
Search my heart ! Dost Thou deny me this ? Wouldst 
Thou visit me with Thy wrath because my feet faltered 
at the cry of the stricken child Marianna ? Ask not this 
sacrifice ! Have I not labored in Thy vineyard ? Oh, is 
it my heart of flesh that still cries out ? Give me a sign ! 
All is dark. I know not which way to turn. Send down 
Thine angels to me, as in times past ! (She stands breath- 
less, her eyes fixed, her arms outstretched, silent at first, then 
speaking in a far-away monotone as one in a trance.) Light, 
light ineffable, — I cannot see for light, — wings, tier on 
tier. Bear me up, O blessed ones, lest I faint ! A great 
hush. Hark ! — Which of the bright host spake ? — One ? 
All? — What were the words? "He needs you." (A 
wonderful radiance steals over her face.) Needs me ? Me ? 
(She stands rapt and motionless, her lips parted, her eyes 
fixed in mystic ecstasy. Little by little her lips move as if in 
silent, awestruck prayer, then with a gesture of unutterable 
joy she breaks into speech.) Needs me? Have I heard 
aright ? Even me, the dust at his feet ? The Lord hath 
spoken. Thy voice, O Lord of Hosts ! Thy behest ! I 
may go to him ! I am answered ! 

55 




Act IV 

SCENE I — Bianca' s dressing-room. Bianca seated at a table 
with a casket of jewels before her. She rests her chin on her 
hand and gazes off as one lost in thought. In one hand she 
holds a letter. 



Bianca {dreamily). The title of Marchioness and {lifting 
a string of jewels) these. And the Grand Duke's favor 
for — how long? And if Bianca Cappello dies! And 
Lorenzo ? {She fingers the jewels, clasps a bracelet about 
her wrist, then a string of rubies about her neck, takes up a 
coronet, rises, goes to a mirror and fastens it in her hair. 
She stands head eretl and proud gazing at herself in the 
mirror, then paces restlessly up and down, returns to the 
mirror, then to the table and takes up the letter?) And 
the Duke's messenger waits for my answer! ( She starts 
suddenly, goes to two wide closed doors at the back of the 
stage and listens intently with bent head and finger on 
lip.) All quiet! {She returns to the mirror and looks at 
herself again, less critically and more passionately.) If he 
could see me now ! ( She laughs with a touch of scorn.) 
See me in the Grand Duke's jewels ! Lorenzo ! and Sister 

56 



THE TOCSIN 

Maddalena ! {She stands with parted Zips, her bosom heav- 
ing, her eyes full of a vague terror?) She said, yet should 
I come! 

{Enter Nit a.) 

Nita. Pardon, my lady. 

Bianca {turning angrily). Who called you? 

Nita. Pardon, my lady, but the messenger waits. 

Bianca. When I wish to see him I will ring. 

Nita. Pardon, my lady, but if my lady knew how beautiful 
she looked, she 

Bianca. Leave the room ! 

Nita. Pardon, my lady. ( Exit.) 

{ Bianca goes to the closed doors, listens a moment, stands 
lost in thought, then slowly unclasps bracelet and necklace, 
takes the coronet off and lays the jewels in the casket. 'Then 
she rings. Nita enters.) 

Bianca {pointing to the casket). Give this to the messenger, 
and he may tell his master Bianca delle Torre has jewels 
and titles enough. 

Nita. Ah, but the beautiful jewels! {She goes relutlantly 
to the door?) 

Bianca {half rising) . Wait! {She seems to struggle with 
herself a moment, then motions Nita away. Nita goes out. 
Bianca sits motionless, her face resting on her hands, her 
eyes dreamy, gazing off into space. Enter Lorenzo suddenly 
with a drawn dagger. He moves silently, swiftly, looking 
about as if for some one he fully expetled to find. Bianca turns 
and sees him and watches him in scornful silence. He catches 
her eye. She looks apprehensively at the closed doors and 
he rushes toward them triumphantly. Swiftly she glides 
between and stands with her back against them, her arms 
outstretched across the panels?) 

57 



THE TOCSIN 

Bianca. Whom are you searching for? 

Lorenzo. De' Medici's messenger. Where is he? 

Bianca. Not here. 

Lorenzo. Then it was de' Medici himself? 

Bianca. Insolent! 

Lorenzo. I have a message for the Duke. Let me pass. 
{Grasps her arm.) 

Bianca {with sudden pleading in her voice). Lorenzo, there 
is no man there; but I will be open with you, — the 
Duke's messenger was here 

Lorenzo. Let me pass. I would not be rough with you. 

Bianca. But I sent him away and his jewels with him. 
{More pleadingly.) See, I am frank with you, Lorenzo 
mio; the Grand Duke sent me jewels but I would not 
have them. 

Lorenzo ( with a bitter laugh ). Jewels by a white carrier- 
dove, was it not so ? That white dove you befooled me 
with the first day I ever met you ? 

Bianca. Lorenzo ! 

Lorenzo. How a little point of steel can tame a woman ! 

Bianca ( laying her hand on the hand which holds the dagger). 
Do I fear you ? 

Lorenzo. A brave woman by all the saints! {He starts 
to throw open the doors, then turns away with a gesture of 
bitter indifference.) No, hide whom you will behind your 
doors. What is it to me! {He glances about in sudden 
wonder ', as if coming to himself and hurries to the outer door.) 

Bianca {feverishly). Lorenzo, I have been thinking over 
many things here in the moonlight. {She goes to the table.) 
See. I was thinking of — of Marianna {he turns with a 
start), and I have set aside these pearls for her. {She 
takes up a necklace.) 

58 



THE TOCSIN 

Lorenzo {full of anguish and amazement). Marianna ! ( He 

goes toward Bianca.) 
Bianca. Yes, for Marianna. 
Lorenzo {with sudden passion). Hush! Not that name 

on your lips! The saints', the Holy Virgin's name if 

you will, but not that name on your painted lips. {He 

tears the string of pearls from her and throws it underfoot?) 
Bianca. Lorenzo ! 

Lorenzo. Those about Marianna's throat? 
Bianca ( with a strange meekness ). They were my mother's. 

I have never worn them since as a child she used to twine 

them in my hair. 
Lorenzo. What, no lover's kisses on them ? But let them 

lie. Marianna will not need them in Heaven. 
Bianca. In Heaven? 
Lorenzo. She went to Florence to find me — is dead, it 

may be ! ( 'Turns to the door.) 
Bianca {following him). Now if she were in Heaven! 
Lorenzo. Hush ! 
Bianca. Now if she whom you will not let me name were 

in Heaven ! ( She lays her hand on his arm.) 
Lorenzo {looking at her in dull wonder). And once I 

thought you a pearl. 
Bianca. If she were dead and if I said I loved you ? 
Lorenzo {oblivious of Bianca and sinking again into his grief). 

Followed me to Florence to die ! 
Bianca. My God, did you not hear me say I loved you ? 
Lorenzo {unheeding). Houseless and alone! 
Bianca {barring the way). Lorenzo, it is true I mocked you 

at first, played with you, tried to break your heart till 

Heaven knows I broke my own ! ( He tries to thrust her 

aside; she bars the way and clings to him.) Have I not 

59 



THE TOCSIN 

given up everything for you ? Offended the Grand Duke ? 
Sent back his presents ? You do not believe I love you ? 

Lorenzo. I am weary of hearing you say you love me ! 

Bianca. You will never hear me say it again. 

Lorenzo. Now to Florence, to Marianna! (He turns to 
go. As he reaches the door Bianca, who has stood battling 
with herself ] cries out.) 

Bianca. Lorenzo ! (He pays no heed, and Bianca rushes to the 
two closed doors and throws them back, disclosing Marianna 
swathed in white, lying as if asleep on a couch. 'The moon- 
light from two tall mullioned windows falls on her.) 
Lorenzo ! Look. 

Lorenzo (turning). My God! Marianna! 

Bianca. Hush ! 

Lorenzo. Dead and here ! 

Bianca. The Abbot brought her fainting from the fields. 

Lorenzo. Not dead! 

Bianca. We calmed her with a sleeping draught. 

Lorenzo. How did she come here? 

Bianca. You remember the Abbot's page ! 

Lorenzo. Who rode for my pardon! Where were my 
eyes ! ( He steals nearer Marianna.) 

Bianca. Where were your eyes ? In mine then. 

Lorenzo. I never loved you. (He approaches Marianna, 
kneels down and buries his face in the hem of her robe.) 

Bianca. No ! ( She presses her hands to her heart.) 

Lorenzo ( still on his knees and with a great fear in his voice). 
Is it sleep — or — death! 

SCENE II — Courtyard of the castle. Behind the towers and 
battlements the moon is rising. From the lighted chapel at 
the rear comes the muffled peal of the organ and the solemn 

60 



THE TOCSIN 

chanting of a midnight mass. At one side under a pent- 
house hangs a great bell. In the foreground at a stone table, 
lit by torches and candles, sit Count Salviati and Sir Walter 
over their wine. I'he Abbot is pacing moodily up and down. 
Brother Sebastiano stands near. 

Count Salviati. Very good, Sir Walter! {fto the Abbot?) 
But your Reverence does not laugh with us. 

Abbot. Pardon me. I am dull. I had bad dreams last 
night. 

Sir Walter. The news from Florence? 

Abbot ( as if he had not heard and gazing moodily before him ). 
Did you ever tempt a bird, a little singing bird, to your 
knee and then while it perched there and let its heart 

out, crush it so, with your hand, like ^changing his 

tone and reaching for a glass). The wine, gentlemen. 

Sir Walter. Was that your dream ? 

Count Salviati. Do you dream on foot? I heard you 
pacing your chamber half the night. 

Abbot ( lifting his glass and throwing back his head as if to 
dispel heavy thoughts). This cures bad dreams. Did you 
ever hear, Count, that a cup of wine got me my famous 
watch and my mitre ? 

Count Salviati. All Florence has it, it was your Rever- 
ence's great sermon. 

Abbot. And what do you think was sponsor to the ser- 
mon ? Come, then, if my forty years may bore you with 
tales of my youth. {A knocking is heard at the castle gate. 
Brother Sebastiano goes and opens the little wicket.) 

Sir Walter {placing a chair). Do us the honor. 
( The Abbot seats himself at the table.) 

Abbot. It was at the time of the Archbishop's visit to 

61 



THE TOCSIN 

Florence. Our Prior — I was at San Marco's, had just 
finished my novitiate — our good Prior was to preach 
before him in the cathedral. 

Brother Sebastiano (coming forward and plucking the 
Abbot's sleeve). Pardon, Reverend Father, but 

Abbot (waving him off). To the devil with Florence! I 
will hear no more of it, I tell you. 

Brother Sebastiano. Pardon, Reverend Father, not Flor- 
ence, but a woman. 

Abbot ( waving him off). To the devil with the women ! 
(Brother Sebastiano reluclantly desists.) It was the cele- 
bration of high mass. The cathedral was packed, the 
Archbishop on his throne, when the Prior was seized 
with a dizziness. One of the brothers must take his 
place and read the sermon. They hurried to the convent. 
Chance chose me ! 

Count Salviati. Who calls Chance blind ! ( The knocking, 
low but determined, is heard again. Brother Sebastiano goes 
to the gate.) 

Abbot. I had five minutes for preparation. "To your 
beads," cried our almoner, — he was a pious man; but 
the cellarer gave me a nod and a beck and jingled his 
keys. " I have something that will keep your knees from 
shaking under you," he whispered. 

(Brother Sebastiano, who has been standing at the wicket, 
again comes to the Abbot.) 

Brother Sebastiano. She will not take no, Reverend 
Father. 

Abbot (paying no heed to Brother Sebastiano, but continuing 
with growing recklessness). I tasted, I drank, I was glori- 
ous. I hurried to the cathedral, I mounted the pulpit. 
A sea of heads stretched before me. In a trice the wine, 

62 



THE TOCSIN 

the devil, my guardian angel, who knows, conspired. I 
flung aside my notes. Something struggled for a moment 
on my lips and then leapt to speech. I was preaching, 
not the Prior's sermon, but my own. 

Count Salviati. Bravo ! 

Sir Walter. Well done! 

Abbot (rising). Every eye was upon me. My voice rose. 
The blood beat in my temples. There was a sob from 
one of the women. It was like a spur. Another, I took 
the bit in my teeth ! Women tore off their jewels and 
cast them on the flags. The whole throng swayed toward 
me. They were mine. 

Count Salviati. Bravissimol 

Sir Walter. And the Archbishop? 

Abbot. Breathless like the rest. Afterward, in the sacristy, 
holy man, he fell on my neck and gave me his blessing, 
his famous watch, and the Abbey of San Raffaello. 

Brother Sebastiano. O Reverend Father, she says she 
must see you before she dies. 

Abbot. What are you dinning into my ears ? Who is she ? 
What is she ? 

Brother Sebastiano. I do not know, Reverend Father. 

Abbot. Is she fair ? 

Brother Sebastiano. Her face is covered, your Reverence. 

Abbot. Come, then, to put an end to your importunity. 
Gentlemen, shall we unveil the beauty ? 

Count Salviati. By all means. 

Abbot. Let her in. (He snatches up one of the torches, 
laughing. Brother Sebastiano opens the gate and admits Sister 
Maddalena.) 

Sir Walter (to Count Salviati). By the Holy Mass — 
look! 

63 



THE TOCSIN 

Count Salviati {starting). The gray Sister! 

[Sister Maddalena, her hood drawn over her face, ad- 
vances toward the Abbot, and when within a few paces of 
him kneels down with bowed head and her arms crossed on 
her breast.) 

Abbot. What do you want of me ? 

Sister Maddalena. Your blessing, Holy Father. 

Abbot [gaily). Your face, Holy Sister. [He throws back 
her hood and flares the torch in her face, and as the light 
falls on her pure worn features he starts back sobered.) You 
must be she they call St. Maddalena. (To Count Salviati 
and Sir Walter.) I pray you, gentlemen, one moment. 
I will join you. (Exeunt the Count and Sir Walter.) 
(Harshly.) I have no blessing for you! 

Sister Maddalena (clasping the hem of his robe). O Father, 
let but the quickening grace of your benediction rest 
upon me before I die. I go to Florence. 

Abbot. To Florence ! To hell ! 

Sister Maddalena. To Florence, to bliss eternal, won for 
me, the greatest of God's sinners, through your words, 
your prayers ! 

Abbot (bitterly). My prayers! When have I prayed? 

Sister Maddalena. Mock me not, Father. 

Abbot. Mock me not, Sister. When have I ever seen 
you? 

Sister Maddalena. O Father, I was of those in the cathe- 
dral, when the spirit of God descended upon you, and 
you spoke with tongues of flame. ( Swept by her memories 
of the past, she rises from her knees.) All about me the 
great mass swayed and surged. Men sobbed, women fell 
fainting on the cold stones. You scourged the vanities 
of this world. I tore the jewels from my throat; you 

6 4 



THE TOCSIN 

plucked the secret sin from out my bosom; you spoke 
to me, to me alone in all the throng ! The sword-thrusts 
of your words slashed and rent my guilty breast. Then, 
oh, with what angel voice you pleaded the passion of our 
Lord — pardon, redemption, peace ! My heart melted in 
me. " O Christ," I cried, " I come, I come ! " (The Abbot 
stands motionless, Sister Maddalena becomes more impas- 
sioned.) I left my home, my friends, my lovers ; I sought 
refuge in the mountain fastnesses to mourn my sins. As 
the sands of the sea, so were my lamentations, yet peace 
came not. Then across my desolation swept the wail of 
the sinning, the stricken, the forsaken. " As thou doest 
it to the least of these," cried a voice, and I went again 
among men. But now to nurse the suffering, plead with 
the murderer, the harlot; mount the scaffold to clasp 
the despised hands of those condemned to shameful 
death. O Father, the tears of souls redeemed, their 
prayers, their halleluiahs, the aspirations of their breaking 
hearts turned through my weak aid to God, I come to 
lay here at your feet, before I die. ( She casts herself on 
her knees before the Abbot and kisses the hem of his gar- 
ment. He stands as though struck dumb; then with a sudden 
cry, snatches his robe from her hands.) 
Abbot. " And the fool hath said in his heart, there is no 
God." O my life, my barren life, burst like Aaron's rod 
into this miracle of flower! O my God, whom I have 
denied and mocked ! (A low, solemn chanting as of a dirge 
is heard without. The Abbot turns impassioned to Sister 
Maddalena.) I, the instrument of your salvation ? At my 
feet your crown of tears, of prayers, of faith triumphant? 
I, unworthy to loose the latchet of your shoes ! I, stained 
with a thousand sins, false priest, untrue to every vow! 

65 



THE TOCSIN 

Up, up from the dust where I should lie ! ( He takes her 

hands and attempts to raise her.) 

{'The dirge sounds nearer. There enter two monks chant- 
ing and with flaring torches in their hands. Following them 

pace slowly and solemnly four more brothers bearing an open 

bier strewn with white flowers, on which, as though wrought 

in alabaster, Marianna is lying. Lorenzo walks beside her. 

As his eyes fall on the Abbot, he starts forward, half 

frenzied.) 
Lorenzo. Her death be on your head, you who parted us. 
Abbot. Marianna ! Dead ! 

{The brothers set down the bier.) 
Lorenzo {perceiving Sister Maddalena and clutching her robe 

in an agony of supplication). O Holy Sister, save her! 
Sister Maddalena. Whither are you carrying her ? 
Lorenzo. To the chapel, the wonder-working image of 

Our Lady. 
Abbot ( bending horror-struck over Marianna and stretching 

out his arms over her with a gesture of infinite tenderness). 

My work! 

{Lorenzo turns from Sister Maddalena and seizing the 

Abbot's arm thrusts him away.) 
Lorenzo {mercilessly). Not your hands on her; it were 

profanation, — you who lured me into the snares of the 

courtezan. 

( The Abbot staggers back, his hand on his heart, as if 

struck by a mortal blow. Sister Maddalena touches Lorenzo's 

arm in stern command.) 
Sister Maddalena. Peace. 
Lorenzo {seizing her robe). But you, so pure, so holy, 

you have power with Heaven. Your robes are not, like 

his, a mockery of religion. She breathes yet. Wrestle 

66 



THE TOCSIN 

for her with the angel of death. I broke her heart. Give 
her back to me or one grave holds us both. 

{Sister Maddalena lays her hands gently on Mariannd s 
wrists and forehead. She turns a moment with quivering 
lips toward the Abbot, then bends over the sleeping girl.) 

Sister Maddalena. It is sleep, not death. 

Lorenzo {half incredulous). Sleep? 

Sister Maddalena. Even now she stirs. Let your face 
be the first she sees. 

( Lorenzo kneels down by the bier gazing into Mariannd s 
face. Sister Maddalena stands above her. For a moment 
her eyes wander ; with a look of anguish ', toward the Abbot ; , 
who stands bowed and motionless. 'Then with an evident 
effort at control, she steadies her voice and speaks to Mari- 
anna in a tone of quiet command!) Marianna ! ( The girl stirs 
slightly.) Marianna! {Mariannd' s eyelids flutter and she 
looks up dreamily!) Marianna! {Marianna, supported by 
Sister Maddalena, half rises on her elbow. The monks fall 
on their knees, crossing themselves and murmuring, " A mira- 
cle ! " Lorenzo kneels breathless. As Mariannd s eyes fall 
on him, a wonderful smile dawns over her face. She draws 
a deep sigh of joy.) 

Marianna. I must be in Heaven, for your eyes say they 
love me. {Lorenzo, speechless, clasps her hands.) I am too 
happy to question you. 

Lorenzo. Forgive. 

Marianna. I shall live now. 

Lorenzo. Forget. 

Marianna. I have forgotten all. 

{She sinks on his breast. He draws her from the bier. 
They have eyes only for each other, and supporting her in his 
arms, Lorenzo leads her off. The brothers follow with the 

6 7 



THE TOCSIN 

bier. As the lovers pass him, the Abbot starts forward. 
Marianna, her head pillowed on Lorenzo's breast, does not 
see him. Lorenzo makes an involuntary gesture of aversion, 
and drawing Marianna closer to him passes out. The Abbot 
turns and leans heavily against the wall, his head buried in 
his arms. Sister Maddalena sways, then stands gazing 
yearningly at him. She half unconsciously makes a step 
toward him and stretches out her arms.) 

Sister Maddalena. Crushed, broken, desolate! (She 
dashes her hand across her eyes, vainly striving for control. 
The deep waters have passed over her.) Oh, these woman's 
tears ! when I should have the tongue of men and of 
angels ! Lord, not this cup, not this ! If ever Thy hand- 
maiden hath found favor in Thy sight, my life for his, 
my soul, my salvation ! Lord, forget not it was he who 
led me to Thee. O star of my life, dim, fallen ! ( The 
Abbot turns. Their eyes meet. She starts toward him with 
outstretched hands. He draws back.) 

Abbot. Did you not hear him say my touch was profana- 
tion ? (In spite of himself Sister Maddalena takes his hands. 
He looks into her eyes. The harshness, the broken-hearted 
despair in his voice give place to an almost awestruck 
wonder.) What, still tears for me ? ( They gaze long and 
solemnly into each other's eyes, then with a voice still tremu- 
lous, but made vital by a great hope and perhaps with a 
touch of a great joy, but half understood, Sister Maddalena 
breaks the silence.) 

Sister Maddalena. Count it for you too, sleep, not death 
that has lain upon you, — sleep, since that hour when 
your real self woke and spoke. What you were in that 
moment, be again. 

Abbot. Can these bones live? 

68 



THE TOCSIN 

Sister Maddalena {with growing calm and conviclion). 
"Thus saith the Lord God unto these bones; Behold, I 
will cause breath to enter into you, and ye shall live." 

{As she speaks, the Abbot seems for an instant to kindle 
with the white heat of her passionate faith ; then a horror, 
as of a great darkness, sweeps over his features. He snatches 
away his hands with a bitter cry of despair.) 

Abbot. Too late! 

Sister Maddalena {in an agony of appeal). Not too 
late! O Lord, quicken Thou my feeble woman's force. 
Through the bitterness of these tears the power goes 
from me. {Suddenly she draws herself up to her full height, 
and with a superb gesture of command towers above him.) 
No time now for despair ! Your city ; your people ! 

Abbot ( echoing her cry in a tone of piercing self-accusation ). 
My city, my people left to perish ! ( His eyes fall on the 
great bell hanging under the penthouse. He hurries toward 
it and seizes the rope. 'The bell peals out tumultuously . As 
the sound swells, men-at-arms and monks throng out into the 
courtyard. The doors of the chapel swing back and the 
officiating priest in his robes, followed by deacons and altar- 
boys with cross and censer, file out. They group themselves, 
silent and wondering, the monks nearest the Abbot. Bianca 
appears in the arch of the chapel door. The Abbot lets fall 
the rope and turns to the brothers, his arms outstretched.) 
Not I but Florence summons you, — Florence from her 
hundred mouths of sin, famine, pestilence, despair. Who 
am I that should dare call you back, I who led you 
astray ? Blind leader of the blind ! But through this 
angel of the Lord rings a cry from the death-stricken 
city, its desert palaces, its reeking hovels. Shall she 
return to minister alone ? Back, back all of us, to tend 

6 9 



THE TOCSIN 

the suffering, hold the sacred cross before dying eyes, 
bury the unhallowed dead! {Horror-struck, the monks 
murmur and draw away.) What, you shrink back? (Sis- 
ter Maddalena steps to the Abbot's side. Bianca watches, 
breathless, her hands clasped on her breast. 'The Abbot hur- 
ries on aflame?) You hug to your craven breasts the hid- 
eous sin I helped you to ? You love this little life of the 
hour too well to risk it for a glorious immortality ? O 
God, be mine the penalty, mine the retribution, base 
shepherd of a coward flock ! (Bianca falters a moment, 
then hurries forward and throws herself at Sister Madda- 
lena y s feet. The sister raises her tenderly. The Abbot takes 
Bianca y s hand silently, and seeks inspiration once more at 
the triumphant eyes of Sister Maddalena ; then leaving the 
women and seizing a cross from one of the deacons holds it 
aloft. An irresistible power seems to have fallen upon him. 
With a common impulse the brothers fill on their knees. The 
Abbot looks across the white-robed mass and his voice rings 
out like a clarion.) I shall go and you shall follow ! I will 
wrestle for you with the powers of darkness ! I will save 
your souls alive ! I will pluck them back from the gates 
of hell, whither I had led them ! Ye are Christ's, ye shall 
be Christ's ! Back, back to your deserted posts, to glori- 
ous pain, to death, to life everlasting ! ( The monks hesi- 
tate a moment, falter, sway as though swept by a wind, then 
leap to their feet and rush forward with a great cry.) 

Monks. To Florence! To Florence! 

Abbot. To Florence ! ( He holds the cross aloft. He is trans- 
figured with joy. The two women follow, and all sweep 
after him, crying, " To Florence ! Florence ! " ) 

The End. 

7 o 



HISTORICAL REFERENCES 

A LAW FORBIDDING ARMS 

Sixtus had forbidden short arms to be worn on pain of death, yet one 
day from Prince Farnese's pocket tumbled a small pistol at the very feet of 
the pontiff. He was ordered to be hung the same night at the first hour. 
Ferdinand, then on good terms with Cardinal Farnese, determined to save 
his kinsman, and found means to retard every clock in Rome one full hour, 
all except the pontiff's. At the moment appointed for the execution he re- 
paired to the Vatican and demanded mercy for his friend. Sixtus, seeing 
that the time was passed and, as he thought, the execution over, most gra- 
ciously accorded it ; whereupon Ferdinand repaired to the Castle of St. Angelo 
and carried off the prince in triumph. — Napier, Florentine History, Vol. V. 

CHARACTER OF POPE SIXTUS V. 

Peretti's character is thus described in a letter of the day addressed to the 
Grand Duke of Florence by his agent, Belisario Vinti : 

"The Pope is a grave and patient person who knows how to dissemble 
in proper time and place, but prudently and without fraud or malice. As an 
enemy of falsehood and artifice he loves men of probity. He is literary, 
capable of state affairs, intelligent and experienced, — is resolved to be pope 
himself." — Napier, Florentine History, Vol. V. 

BIANCA CAPPELLO 

The daughter of Bartolommeo Cappello, a Venetian noble, wife of an 
obscure clerk, Piero Buonaventuri, with whom she eloped and fled to Flor- 
ence, Bianca became first the mistress and afterward the duchess of Francesco 
de' Medici. Her first husband was murdered, according to current report, 
at the instigation of the Grand Duke. Napier says that on the occasion of 
her marriage to de' Medici "she suddenly became the pride of her family, 
the glory of her order, the hope of her country, and was immediately adopted 

7 1 



HISTORICAL REFERENCES 

by public decree ' as the true and particular daughter of the republic in con- 
sequence of those most singular and most excellent qualities which rendered 
her worthy of the most splendid fortune.' * * * But the splendour of 
Venetian rejoicing was exceeded by that of Florence; jousts, balls, feasts, 
tournaments, bull-fights, the chace of wild beasts and every sort of pastime 
filled the city and adjacent hills and kept the Val-d'Arno alive with their 
echoes. * * * The whole expense of this marriage to the Grand Duke 
was estimated at 300,000 ducats, a sum equal to about one year's ordinary 
revenue of the ancient republic in its most glorious days." 

PESTILENCE 

This pestilence attacked Florence in July and killed many of the poorer 
classes who were suffering from two successive years of scarcity which all the 
efforts of the office of Abundance could hardly remedy. The people were, 
moreover, out of humour with the government, unhappy and angry at being 
rifled to meet the expenses of their sovereign's marriage, just at a moment 
when failing harvests, sickness and general misery required more than usual 
leniency. — Napier, Florentine History, Vol. V. 



72 



THIS EDITION OF THE TOCSIN, A DRAMA OF 
THE RENAISSANCE BY ESTHER BROWN TIFFANY 
CONSISTS OF THREE HUNDRED £g" FIFTY COPIES 
PRINTED FOR PAUL ELDER & COMPANY BY THE 
TOMOYE PRESS AT SAN FRANCISCO, UNDER THE 
DIRECTION OF J. H. NASH, IN THE MONTH OF 
OCTOBER & YEAR NINETEEN HUNDRED & NINE 



: '■-■ 






_C 



